


Pas Peur (pas peur, pas peur)

by eliottamoureux



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Exposition, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Pining, angst with a happy ending because this is a canon compliant fic, briefest of brief mentions of suicide in ch. 4, eliott's perspective, elu - Freeform, mature rating for ch 7 onward, slow burn word-count-wise but not time wise because eliott is gone for lucas immediately lol, so much exposition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-11-16 08:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliottamoureux/pseuds/eliottamoureux
Summary: the desire to be loved meets the fear of being known.or, the third season of Skam France, from Eliott's perspective: starting at a new school, falling in love, and everything in between.





	1. 00— Le nouveau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He approaches a group of boys, and their louder than they need to be as they chat about something— catching up about the weekend’s events, assumedly, and Eliott just needs a place to breathe, to calm down before anything bad happens, he needs to stop worrying, he needs—_
> 
> _Suddenly, all of the noise in his brain goes quiet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been running this over and over in my brain for the past week now, and I wanted to whip up a little prologue to get things started, based off of the preview clip.
> 
> Some things worth noting:  
> \- I am not French, and have only a very surface-level understanding of the schooling system in France. If I've messed anything up, please don't hesitate to let me know, and I'll correct it!  
> \- I'm a university student, so my workload is very inconsistent. I'll try to write & post new chapters as frequently as possible, but I'm not going to impose a schedule on myself and make a promise that I can't keep. Please be patient with me!  
> \- I'm new to Skam as a show— this is my own interpretation, but if I get anything majorly wrong, again, don't hesitate to let me know! I'm planning on watching the OG soon!  
> \- Kudos and comments are much appreciated, and thank you so much for reading!! i try my best to respond to comments as quickly as possible.
> 
> i'm also on tumblr [@paspeurpaspeurpaspeur](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com) if that's your thing!

“Yeah,  _ maman, _ I’ll be okay. I’ll call you after I’m done class today. Love you too, bye.”

_ Deep breaths,  _ Eliott reminds himself. He pops his earbuds in as the guard approaches the gate.  _ Stop holding your breath, and breathe _ . The deep breathing doesn’t stop his heart from pounding, though, and he feels his hands shake ever so slightly as the gate is unlocked. He tries to his his shaky breathing from the people stood around him, and he really can’t tell whether he’s succeeding or not.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt the deep, aching unease of being  _ new  _ to a place. But here he is, waiting for the beginning of his first period of the day, and he’s  _ nervous,  _ anxious even. He just really doesn’t want a repeat of what happened last year, at his old school.

He doesn’t even want to think about it, actually. But his anxious brain— as most anxious brains do— obsesses over the things he would rather forget. 

_ “Honey, we were thinking you could start at a new school. Do you think that would help?”  _ He hears in his mother’s voice.

_ “You don’t have to, of course. But there’s another lycée a short bus ride away, you could keep studying literature there. Sometimes a fresh start helps.”  _ He remembers his father saying. He remembers telling them he would think about it. He remembers thinking, and thinking, and thinking— and he remembers telling his parents that he would like to try it out. He was registered for term only a couple of weeks after that, and now here he is, a fresh start.

One that he can’t—  _ can’t—  _ fuck up, this time.

He knows he’s worrying more than he has any right to, but he can’t help it. He’s put so much pressure on himself to fly under the radar, to not attract any attention to himself. He only has a couple of months before the  _ bac _ , and it was hard enough for he and his parents to get him a second shot at it.

He knows there won’t be a third chance.

He’s in the front of the small crowd of waiting students, and he tries to keep his pace as average as possible. It’s the first day of term, so it’s a bit easier for him to blend in than if he had come in the middle of the last one, like his parents had insisted initially. He wants nothing more than to blend in, both today and for the rest of term, if he can help it. His hands are in his pockets and his hood is up, but that doesn’t seem to make him invisible, as much as he wishes to be. His gaze meets those of a couple of girls sat at the base of the stairs’ railing, briefly but nonetheless, and he tries to look as indifferently pleasant as possible as he continues onward. 

The same thing happens moments later, with a pair of girls walking by him in the opposite direction. A nod, a pleasant smile, and then his gaze is back in front of him, pointed toward the ground in front of him as he walks. The air changes as he steps into the hallway from the front courtyard, and the unease intensifies. Everything is so similar to his old school, but at the same time so new. It’s as if the place that he had known so well had been filled with nothing but unfamiliar people, and his unease is physical, now. He isn’t  _ only _ worrying because of the change of location— it’s a variety of things. His parents seem so  _ sure  _ that he’ll do well here, and the pressure from them is tangible after his last go at finishing school. Then there’s Lucille, with her excellent grades, and not exactly reacting ideally to him failing his  _ bac _ — not exactly reacting ideally to  _ anything _ , lately— among other things have come together to create a vicious case of self-doubt. That, with the unfamiliar place, and the uncertainty that comes with it, makes his stomach lurch. He doesn’t remember the last time he got sick from anxiety, but he thinks it’s a possibility now. He tries to think back to the tour that he had gotten a couple of months ago,  _ where was the bathroom?  _ He’ll be late for class but he knows that would be better than throwing up, in class, on his first day.

That would be the exact opposite of blending in.

He approaches a group of boys, and their louder than they need to be as they chat about something— catching up about the weekend’s events, assumedly, and Eliott just needs a place to breathe, to calm down before anything bad happens, he needs to stop worrying, he needs— 

Suddenly, all of the noise in his brain goes quiet. 

He’s not sure why the boy in the front, his hair flopping around a bit as he explains something animatedly, steals all the air out of his lungs, but he does. This has never happened to him before, with  _ anyone _ . He fixates on the boy, as if he’s lost control of himself, needing to look at him as much as he possibly can. Before Eliott knows what’s happening, they bump into each other, and the other boy doesn’t seem to notice, but Elliott's feet are turning him around before he knows what’s happening. His eyes look down the boy’s body as he continues to walk, down his slender back and toward his—  
  
Then the boy looks back, just a little, responding to one of his friends to his side, and Eliott gets another glance at his face, grinning and laughing as he and his friends make their way out into the courtyard. Eliott only needs a brief moment more to take in the sharp lines of his jaw, his shoulders, contrasted with a laugh that smooths everything out and makes the boy softer, somehow. He keeps his gaze on the boy for as long as he can, until him and his friends turn off to one side of the courtyard and out of view, and even still he waits a few moments more, hoping,  _ wishing _ to catch just one more glance, but it proves an unfruitful effort. Only then does he let out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding, and heads to class, the space in his brain that was occupied by his worries now filled with pictures of a strong jaw and a soft laugh.


	2. 01— Je crois que je suis amoureux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Isn’t it kind of weird to start at a new school five months before graduation?” Lucas asks. Truth be told, it_ is _pretty weird, but his circumstances are, as well. He wanted to start fresh, after a particularly bad episode last year cost him his last few friends and any shred of dignity he may have still had in the eyes of his teachers. The aftermath had left him too depressed to finish any of his assignments, too defeated to get help for them, and too far behind to finish his_ bac _on time._  
>   
> 
> _But he doesn’t tell Lucas that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick pre-chapter notes:  
> \- I've decided to go with the clip times to indicate that a scene is based on one from the actual episode, and to use _avant_ and _après_ to show that I'm speculating about something that took place before and after a clip, respectively.  
> \- I'm planning on having each chapter's time frame be an episode, but I'm planning on writing an epilogue, as well as possibly a few bonus chapters throughout, so I really have no clue how many chapters this thing's gonna have.
> 
> i'm on tumblr [@paspeurpaspeurpaspeur](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/)!! shoot me a message there if you have any suggestions/ideas/kind words that you'd rather send on there than here!!
> 
> Enjoy chapter two, _mecs!_

**VENDREDI AVANT 16:38**

It hasn’t been long, but Eliott has managed to settle down better than he expected.

The people that he has classes with are nice enough, he’s even set up plans with a couple of them to study for the test that they have in a couple of weeks. He’s chatting with one of them— though he can’t remember her name for the life of him— after class when a girl comes bounding up to them.

“Hi guys!” She says, the picture of enthusiasm, “My name is Daphné, I’m in second year. I don’t think we’ve met…?” Eliott thinks for a moment, before remembering that she was one of the people he had passed by on his first day here, not long ago. He shakes his head.

“I’ve seen you, but I don’t think we’ve met— Eliott.” He says, holding his hand out for Daphné to shake, which she does excitedly.

“So nice to meet you!” She responds. “I’m in charge of reviving the _foyer_ this year, alongside a group of some of my friends. We’re doing it as part of a project, but we want to get input on what we should do from as many students as possible. So we’re holding a meeting later today, at about 4:30. I’d love to see both of you there, if you’re interested!” Eliott looks over at his classmate, and they share a shrug.

“I don’t think I’m busy,” Eliott says, and his classmate nods in agreement, “We’ll be there!” In response, Daphné _squeals_ , a sound unlike anything Eliott has heard before. Her dedication is endearing, and he may be able to meet some new people at this meeting. He grins at her as she sets off down the hallway, stopping to tell everyone she sees about the meeting.

“I think I’m going to go grab some food. You coming?” His classmate asks, and he shakes his head.

“I have a couple homework questions to get done. Meet here once you get back?”

“Why here?”

“I don’t… Know where the _foyer_ is. Still new, you know?”

“Sure thing. See you then!”

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 16:38**

Eliott, as it turns out, walks by the _foyer_ nearly every day, and he has never noticed until today. He didn’t even realize it was a common space. The haphazard contents and the tacky mural gave the appearance of an unused storage area, commandeered by the drama club— to him, at least.

He and his classmate are a few minutes late, but they come in nonetheless. He can hear Daphné’s cheerful tone from down the hall— Eliott imagines that she could probably carry her voice across the whole school, if she wanted to. Luckily, her and her team have left the door open, and he comes in as quietly as he can— not quietly enough, apparently, as he can see a few heads turn toward the two of them. He sits down in the nearest empty seat to the door, not wanting to cause a ruckus, and then scans the crowd, to see if anyone he knows has also decided to attend.

Before he can do that, though, his heart _lurches_.

Because the first person he looks at is already looking over at him.

Because the first person he looks at is the boy from his first day.

Eliott isn’t sure why the universe has picked right here, right now for them to see each other, but that doesn’t stop him from being thankful for it. If he’s being honest with himself— which he rarely ever is— he’s been thinking about that boy more frequently than he should. _Who thinks about someone this much after having seen them once?_ His brain asks him, a question that he cannot answer. He feels like he’s on a rollercoaster, just after reaching the peak of a hill, beginning to drop. To look at this boy is one thing, but to be looked at in return, he quickly realizes, is a completely different matter.

They hold each others’ gaze for a long moment, and he tries his best to steady his breath, to gain it back after it is stolen away from him once more. One of the boy’s friends is tapping him gently, trying to get his attention, “Lucas, Lucas—”

_Lucas._

The name rings through his mind, even after the boy’s— _Lucas’_ — friend has stopped trying to get his attention.

“Hello everyone! This is..” Daphné pauses, assumedly, for the girl she’s gesturing to to introduce herself, but the rest of the team doesn’t seem to be having it. After Daphné has done the introductions herself for Emma, Imane, Alexia, and herself, the meeting formally begins. Eliott tries his hardest to pay attention to Daphné and what she has to say, but his subconscious has decided to zero in on every sounds that Lucas makes. He doesn’t even need to understand what Lucas is saying, really, the sound of his voice is novelty enough. As a consequence of his unwilling— at least, he tries to convince himself that it’s unwilling— fixation on Lucas, he can’t seem to look away for more than a minute at a time. The worst part is that, more often than not, when he glances back over to the other boy, he’ll find that their gazes have met once again.

Eliott tries his best to read Lucas’ expression every time this happens. However— whether it’s because he’s fairly new to staring at the other boy’s face, and doesn’t really know him; or whether it’s something else completely— Lucas is unreadable. His expression is just so _neutral_ , that Eliott can’t tell if Lucas is looking back at him annoyedly or curiously or something else entirely.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 18:53**

After the meeting is over, Eliott heads toward the nearest bus stop. Thankfully, as he found out on his first day, there’s a station just down the road from the school. Even more thankfully, the station in question has a vending machine. He heads over to it and pauses for a few moments, eyebrows furrowed in indecision. He runs his fingers along his lips— an evolution of his nasty nail-biting habit from when he was younger— trying to decide, when he senses someone come up behind him.

When he sees who it is, he tries his best to act natural, when every part of his being seems to come alight.

“Oh, sorry,” He says, keeping his voice even as best as he can, “Didn’t see you there. I’m not sure what to get.” He looks back toward the vending machine, even though now, more than food, more than _anything_ , he wants to keep looking at Lucas.

“Number 24 isn’t bad.” Lucas replies, and he’s happy to take his word for it, popping a few coins into the machine. His granola bar falls into the bottom compartment. He notices that there’s only one left in the slot now, and a brilliant idea pops into his head. Popping a few more coins in, the last one falls down into the compartment as well.

He can _feel_ Lucas’ eyes on him.

He grabs them, and when he speaks this time he doesn’t have to work as hard to calm himself. The first moments of meeting someone new have always been his least favourite, and now they have passed that.

“Oh, shit, did you want one?” He says teasingly, turning back to Lucas with both granola bars in his hand. Lucas hesitates, then starts to shake his head, but Eliott beats him to it before he can vocalize a reply. “Well, good thing the other one’s for you,” He smiles at Lucas, nodding toward the station’s one bench, and he pulls a joint out from behind his ear. He sits down, restraining a sigh of relief when Lucas does the same, a moment after him. Lucas sits at the other side of the bench, leaving an empty seat between the two of them. Just like at the meeting, they steal glances at each other, and the silence between them is pleasant, if not a bit awkward. Eliott lights his joint, taking a puff from it before decided to attempt conversation.

“So,” he says, trying his hardest to seem casual, “That meeting was weird, right?” This earns him the barest hint of a smile from Lucas, and he can’t help but smile as well.

“Yeah, it _was_ weird,” Lucas says, and Eliott is thankful that they’re in agreement, “Also, the survey? What was up with that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Some of the questions were a bit more invasive than strictly necessary, “But it’s important though.”

“The survey?”

“Well, no, but the _foyer_ , that sort of stuff, it’s cool.” He says, passing Lucas the joint, “A good opportunity to meet new people.” _Like you,_ he wants to add, but doesn’t.

“You’re new?”

“Yeah, I got here three weeks ago.” He thinks back to that first day, all the nerves, all the panic, and then bumping into Lucas and having it suddenly blink away. “Third year, I’m doing literature.” Lucas is quiet again, thinking.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to start at a new school five months before graduation?” Lucas asks. Truth be told, it _is_ pretty weird, but his circumstances are, as well. He wanted to start fresh, after a particularly bad episode last year cost him his last few friends and any shred of dignity he may have still had in the eyes of his teachers. The aftermath had left him too depressed to finish any of his assignments, too defeated to get help for them, and too far behind to finish his _bac_ on time.

But he doesn’t tell Lucas that.

“That’s weird, too?” Eliott doesn’t miss Lucas’ eyes dropping down away from his face, and then climbing back up. Something in his stomach seems to curl inward at that. “Everything is weird with you!” Lucas puffs a breath out, half scoff, half laugh. He’s smiled a few more times through the short conversation that they’ve had, and Eliott has decided that he wants to see him smile as much as possible. “I must be weird too, then..?” Eliott says it without even a trace of malice in his voice, but Lucas’ smile drops off of his face.

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

“What did you mean, then?” Every reaction from Lucas is a surprise, even with Eliott’s playful tone.

He wants to keep talking to him forever.

“I just meant that—”

“ _Salut!_ ” They’re suddenly interrupted by a girl that Eliott hasn’t seen before. She smiles down at Lucas as he’s handed back his joint. Just like that, Lucas’ expression is back to the neutral, unreadable one from earlier.

Eliott learns that this girl’s name is Chloé, that she likes to smoke other people’s— _his—_ weed, and that there’s… _something_ , between her and Lucas. She thinks that the meeting— which she was apparently at, though Eliott didn’t see her— was cool. In response, Eliott tells her that the two of them, at least, have agreed that it was weird. Chloé seems disappointed by their verdict.

“But we like weird, I think.” Eliott says, looking past Chloé and toward Lucas, and he once again sees the barest hint of a smile on the other boy’s face. He introduces himself to Chloé, after she asks, and then introduces himself again, this time to Lucas, because Lucas deserves a separate introduction he thinks.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI APRÈS 18:53**

“Hello?” Eliott calls out as he enters the apartment, and when he doesn’t hear a response, he slides onto the floor, his head in his hands, grinning like an idiot. Grinning because he’s _smitten_ , because his first _actual_ meeting with Lucas didn’t go terribly, because he can still hear “ _chelou_ ” in Lucas’ voice.

He has to draw.

He indulges himself for a few more moments before getting abck on his feet and heading to his room. Even before he got his diagnosis, a little over a year ago, he would draw everything that made him _feel_ — good or bad or otherwise. The illustrations of his bad days are cathartic to create, and the good ones make his heart swell every time he looks back at them. He opens his sketchbook to the first empty page he sees, and gets to work.

This one is more of a doodle than a drawing, but it allows him to get the idea on paper as quickly as possible: the granola bar wrapper from the bus station, with “chelou” written on it. He has it outlined when his phone buzzes.

 

**MESSAGE DE: Lucille**

Have you taken your meds today?

 

He sighs.

 

 **MESSAGE À:** Lucille

Hello to you too

 **MESSAGE DE:** Lucille

Sorry. Hello, take your meds, I’ll remember not to be so considerate of your well being next time.

 **MESSAGE À:** Lucille

I took them this morning, don’t worry

 

He puts his phone on _do not disturb_ mode and tosses it onto his bed. He colours his drawing in, the wrapper black and the lettering red. After doing finishing the first draft of an essay that he has due in a couple of days, he calls it a night, falling asleep with Lucas’ smile on his mind and a smile of his own on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more long-winded post-chapter notes:  
> \- I've now seen all of the third season of Skam OG, and _wow_. Can't wait to see what the french cast does for the _O Helga Natt_ scene, because that broke me.  
> \- That being said, I'm still a bit behind on Skam France (lol). My plan is to keep up with the clips and then binge the rest of the season once it's finished. Any huge derivations from the canon, please let me know!  
> \- I've seen many gifs of Lucas' exchange with Lucille, even though I haven't seen the episode yet— I intended to go a little easy on her, thinking she would be a bit more like Sonja. After seeing that that's not the case, I have no mercy for her as a character. Props to Lola (the actress that plays her) for having the ability to be such a heartless bitch.  
> \- Thank you all so much for reading. Again, my schedule is pretty inconsistent so I'm not sure when chapter three will be up, but I know it will be as soon as I can write it. Let me know if you spot any typos/inconsistencies!  
> \- Thank you for all the kudos and comments on chapter one. I'm just getting back into writing, and it means the world that people like what I have to say.


	3. {polaris}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ _He thinks about the fact that he has a new muse._ ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BtS5j8Unkz9/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so when i said i had a plan for the insta posts, this is what i meant! basically, my plan is to indicate that a chapter is insta post-centric with the {squiggly brackets}, to contrast them from the regular parentheses of a bonus chapter title. 
> 
> these chapters will definitely be the shortest type, since they'll _only_ be describing the insta posts, and only if they don't fit into the narrative of a regular/bonus chapter. i'll probably post them while writing main/longer chapters, to tide you all over while i write _far_ too much about an episode. they'll also be interspersed throughout already-posted chapters, where they fit in in the storyline of the show. so keep an eye out for the {squiggly brackets}!!!
> 
> let me know what you think of this idea, i'm getting started on the new main chapter as i write this! <3

Some days, his brain goes wild. Some days, there’s a storm inside his head, and all he can do is close his eyes, take deep breaths, and try to brave it. 

Today, there’s a storm unlike anything he’s ever experienced, because today he doesn’t want it to stop.

He thinks of possibilities and Lucas. He thinks of  _ Polaris,  _ and how Lucas has shifted its meaning with a single conversation. He thinks of Idriss, his  _ muse,  _ if such a thing is possible, for  _ Polaris.  _ He thinks of his frustration, if how he wanted more than anything to stop crushing on him, but how he couldn’t.

He thinks of when he got reckless— drunk and high and maybe a little bit manic— and fucked everything up.

He thinks of the fact that they haven’t spoken to each other in months because of it.

There’s an ache in his chest when he thinks about it, about the fact that they went from being best friends then to strangers now.

But then he thinks of Lucas again, and he softens.

He thinks of his smile, of the playful conversation that they had at the bus station. He thinks of  _ chelou,  _ and the fact that they already have a  _ thing,  _ together. He thinks of the fact that he wants to get closer to Lucas in any way possible.

He thinks about the fact that he has a new muse.

He thinks of running his fingers through Lucas’ hair. He thinks of the fact that talking to him makes his brain quiet, if only for a little while. He thinks of the fact that Lucas makes him feel brave.

He thinks of holding Lucas’ hands, just like his two characters do in  _ Polaris.  _ He thinks of sharing a kiss with him in the rain, like in every romantic movie he won’t admit he enjoys. He thinks of telling Lucas that he loves him, and of the fact that Lucas saying such a thing back isn’t completely impossible, some day.

So he watches his storyboard for  _ Polaris.  _ For the first time, it doesn’t feel like an outlet. For the first time, it feels like a possibility.

He pauses it when two pairs of hands touch. He pauses it, and screenshots it.

He takes a breath. When he presses the post button, he thinks of possibilities and Lucas.


	4. 02— La curiosité

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He supposes that’s true enough of him, Lucille is a friend, she just so happens to also be his girlfriend, but Lucas doesn’t need to know that._
> 
> _Because he doesn’t want Lucas to think that he’s happy with her._
> 
>  _Because he_ isn’t _happy with her._
> 
> _Because he hasn’t been happy with her in a long time._
> 
> _Because he’s going to end it soon._
> 
> _Because he’s happier with him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this turned out to be a monster, pretty much twice as long as the past two chapters... combined!
> 
> I've been super busy so I've been chipping away at this one in bits and pieces. If you notice any weird inconsistencies/typos/etc. please don't hesitate to let me know! I also _continue_ to be super busy (finals season at my university is coming up) but after that I should have PLENTY of writing time, so updates _should_ get more frequent toward the end of April— like I said, though, I'm not going to make any promises, as I'm no stranger to writer's block.
> 
> i'm planning on a bonus chapter for the next one: Eliott's date with Lucille (even though I know that's technically _this_ episode's content); Eliott drawing, the "surprenant" piano one; and maybe some Eliott alone time (wink wink)— who knows!
> 
> Let me know if you have any bonus chapter ideas, I'd love to hear them— as a comment here or on tumblr [@paspeurpaspeurpaspeur](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/)!

**AVANT VENDREDI 16:07**

The thing about being smitten, Eliott finds, is that he’s started to look for Lucas everywhere around school.

He spends his days in class glancing out of the window as frequently as possible, hoping to see Lucas heading in or out. He always looks at people that pass him by, in hopes of seeing the blue eyes that he couldn’t get out of his head, even if he wanted to.

(He doesn’t want to.)

He sees him, sometimes, and part of his brain wants to run up to him, and ask if he wants to study together, to get coffee sometime, to go to his place and spend time together— but the more rational part of his brain reminds him that he has only properly met this boy once, and so he smiles in his direction and prays to whatever powers may be that Lucas will see him and smile back.

Even when he’s at home, when there’s no chance of him seeing Lucas, he still thinks of him. He thinks of _Polaris_ , his short film that hadn’t (yet) managed to get itself off of the ground, and he pictures him and Lucas in place of the characters he had drawn for the storyboard. He had based the protagonist on himself, of course, a man desiring love and scared of the dark. The idea had come after a particularly bad fight with Lucille— the day that he had realized that he may have never actually loved her, though he would never tell her that. If he hadn’t loved Lucille, then he hadn’t loved anyone, romantically. He had fooled around with a few people at parties, but Lucille was the only one that he had ever dated long-term. It was then that realized that his reasons for dating her, as much as he regrets it, were for convenience more than any real feelings. His family kept asking him, _nagging_ him about when he was going to get himself a girlfriend. His mother had helpfully suggested— or at least she thought so— that he get a girlfriend to help with what they had all thought was his depression at the time. He also needed someone to listen, and Lucille was the only one who would do so without poking and prodding at everything that he said… At first. Then she would bring things up offhandedly, around people that he _really_ wasn’t comfortable with knowing his secrets, and it became quickly apparent that she didn’t view his situation with as much gravity as he did.

But it was too late.

Because she already knew everything there was to know about him.

Because she had been the only one who would listen.

And now, even she is unwilling.

But he didn’t incorporate most of that into _Polaris._ He poured in all of the longing that he felt as a consequence, though. His longing for someone to listen to him and care for him, coupled with his fear of the darkness inside his own head. And thus the idea for _Polaris_ was conceived.

Now he’s found what the protagonist of his film has. Even if it’s not reciprocated, Eliott doesn’t really care at this point. Because he’s found what could be— what just _might_ be— something like love. With that in mind, he watches through the storyboard, and pauses right at his favourite part: the man and the being in the tunnel have just joined hands, and they’re about to kiss each other for the first time. Again, he thinks about him and Lucas instead of his protagonist character and the tunnel being, joining hands for the first time in the dark in the rain, both leaning in until—

It’s such a romance movie cliche, but it’s always been his dream first-kiss scenario.

Now, though he realizes, as he posts a screenshot of that exact moment of the _Polaris_ storyboard to instagram, that _any_ kiss with Lucas has become his new dream first-kiss scenario.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 16:07**

Another week has gone by, and things are so far, so good.

Being in his final year of school means that assignments and test have left his life in a whirlwind, and— as much as he has come to love thinking about Lucas— a crush thrown on top of it all is just one more thing that he has to worry about— but _oh,_ what a lovely thing to fret over, he thinks to himself as he makes his way over to the bus station. When he sees Lucas sat on the bench, just as he was a week ago, he realizes that he might need to frequent the bus station more often.

He sits down beside Lucas silently, right next to him this time. His confidence, more charitable this time, tells him to sit close, so that Lucas will notice him and that they won’t be interrupted by anyone, _god forbid_ Chloé again. Lucas looks… sad, and Eliott wants to ask him what’s bothering him, but before he can, Lucas looks over and recoils slightly in surprise.

“Fuck,” Lucas breathes, “You scared me.” Eliott can’t help but smile, though, because Lucas’ tightly knit brows disappear when their eyes meet.

“Sorry, that wasn’t my intention,” He replies, and it genuinely wasn’t— surprising Lucas was simply a bonus of being able to see him again. Every time he sees Lucas smile, it feels like floating in the ocean on a summer day, light and warm and cold all at once, and this instance is no exception. It spreads across Lucas’ face, bashful and nervous.

He wants to reach out and brush his fingers against Lucas’ lips.

“Are you going home?” Lucas asks, and it’s an innocuous enough question— but it’s also the perfect opportunity to tease him a bit.

“Oh okay, so you go right for the personal questions,” He says, trying his hardest to deadpan, even throwing in a bit of an eye-roll for good measure, and Lucas’ change of expression is _exactly_ what he was aiming for. Lucas blinks at him, shaking his head and trying to find the words to say in response.

It’s adorable.

“I..” Lucas starts, but he beats him to it.

“Lucas, I’m kidding.” He says, smiling over at him once again, and Lucas’ smile returns, too. He even laughs a bit, which is music to Eliott’s ears despite how brief it is. He looks down to his phone, and when Eliott looks back over at him, Lucas isn’t smiling anymore, and Eliott’s speaking before his brain even forms the words. “Is there a problem?” He asks, and Lucas shakes his head a bit, looking off into the distance.

“I’m just,” Lucas starts, their gazes meeting again, “Supposed to bring beer to a party, is all. I’m too broke to buy it, and my roommate isn’t around to transfer me any money.” That’s enough for Eliott, Lucas could have said that he had needed help burying a body somewhere, and Eliott would have been ready to help. He _likes_ Lucas, he has recently realized, and he wants to help him in any way that he can.

“I can lend you some, if you want.” Lucas shakes his head with barely any pause.

“I don’t like to borrow money.”

“Money?” Eliott scoffs, “I don’t have any money. I do have lots of beer, though.” Lucas keeps looking him up and down, and he really can’t take it, it’s _criminal_ for Lucas to look him up and down as much as he has been without doing anything more, without telling him _why._ Eliott had bought a box of beers for the last party that he went to but it had gone unused— plus, you never know when beer will come in handy. He never thought, though, that beer would come in handy for bringing cute boys home with him— a cute boy who keeps smiling at him, at that. “We can go get them at my place, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, unsure. Eliot isn’t sure if it’s willing or completely unintentional, but Lucas is the master of setting himself up to be teased, and he once again finds himself unable to resist.

“Ah, wait, let me guess, you think it’s weird.” Rather than tripping over his words this time, though, Lucas smiles gently and looks toward the ground. Eliott’s chest swells, and he has to consciously restrain himself from reaching over and cupping the younger boy’s cheek. Just then, though, the bus pulls up to the station, and Eliott gets up. The doors open, and he turns back to Lucas. “You coming?”

He greets the driver and sits down in an empty seat, and a moment later Lucas sits down beside him.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 17:12**

The bus trip there was uncomfortable, but by no means unpleasant.

This time it was Lucas that chose to sat down beside him, close enough now that their thighs would brush against each other, and he would find himself involuntarily leaning into Lucas’ space during sharp turns— but he’s certainly not complaining, and Lucas doesn’t seem to be, either.

His parents tend to show up methodically, but there have been a few instances where they’ve shown up to his apartment unannounced. As much as he loves his parents, he also loves to know when he’ll be seeing them, and when he won’t.

He thanks whatever powers may be when, as expected, he opens the door to an empty apartment.

“Come in!’ He chirps, and Lucas nods, making his way into the living room as Eliott takes his coat off, hanging it on the hook. He goes off into the kitchen, and it suddenly hits him that Lucas is in his home, his space. If it had been more planned, he would have tidied up a bit, would have made it look better, would have—

 _Stop_ , he tells himself. Lucas is _here_ , and he’s here _now._ All he can do is make the best of the situation. He grabs the box, and two small bottles as an afterthought, before coming into the living room, where Lucas is looking over his drawings that he has stuck to the wall over the years. The creaky floor gives his approach away, and Lucas looks over at him, smiling in disbelief.

“Okay, so you’re giving me a suitcase of beer.” He says simply, looking down at Eliott’s hand. He can _feel_ where Lucas’ gaze is directed, the tips of his fingers tingling.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I have a lot at home. Don’t know why.” But he _does_ know why. He and his friends would keep all of the beer for parties at his apartment, and it would get drank fairly quickly, up until his diagnosis. He didn’t tell them about his being bipolar until it was too late, and now he hasn’t spoken to any of them in a couple of months, unsure of what to say to them. His doctor has told him more than once not to drink and not to smoke, that it messes with his head even more than his head manages to do on its own, and so the beer in his apartment has gone largely untouched.

But, again, he doesn’t tell Lucas that.

“Do you want one before you go to your party?” He asks, holding up the two bottles he had grabbed a moment before.

“Sure.” Lucas replies, before taking off his coat and scarf, making himself a bit more comfortable.

“Cool,” Eliott says simply, popping the caps off of both of the bottles and handing one to Lucas. They clink their bottles together, a silent _cheers_ , before both taking a swig from their bottles.

Eliott tries, and fails, not to look at the way Lucas’ adam’s apple bobs gently as he swallows. He’s never found himself so focused on such a simple action, but he wants to reach out and _feel_ Lucas’ throat work.

“Did you do that?” Lucas asks, bringing him back to reality. He’s referring to the drawings that Eliott had pinned and taped up over the piano. Most of them are old— he keeps his more recent ones in a sketchbook— but he still likes them, and so there they stay.

“Yeah,” He says, and then shrugs a bit, “Well, it was a long time ago, I’ve gotten better at drawing myself.” Lucas blinks at him then, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s supposed to be you? The… Badger?” And wow, _ouch_. He’s no Picasso but he thought that he was good enough that his raccoons would be recognizable as raccoons. He’s been drawing them for years, after all.

“A badger?” He scoffs, “That’s a raccoon! It’s my spirit animal.” He had come up with it years ago, when he wanted a way to express himself but couldn’t seem to get the hang of drawing people.

“ _That’s_ your spirit animal?” Lucas’ tone makes him a bit self-conscious, but he isn’t the first person that Eliott has had to explain this to.

“Yeah, the raccoon!” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, _why can’t you see that I’m a raccoon? Of_ ** _course_** _I’m a raccoon!_ “Raccoons are awesome! Plus, they wear masks.” He swipes two fingers in front of his face, miming a mask, smiling over at Lucas. They’re smiling at each other now, and he never wants to look away.

“I see!” Lucas laughs again, making his heart drop down into his stomach. Not even a moment later, the smile is gone from his face, suddenly serious. “And if you had to draw me,” “How would you do it?”

Lucas turns slightly so that they’re standing directly across from each other, gazing at Eliott firmly, inquisitive. Thankful for the opportunity to look Lucas up and down, Eliott’s body turns toward him in a similar manner, and he knows what he _wants_ to say. That he would draw Lucas in brilliant colour, with pencil and pen and paint and pastel. He would spends pages trying to get his hair _just_ right, trying to represent the hard lines of his face and the smooth curves of his grin. He would say that he would willingly dedicate his life to drawing him as accurately as possible, and that an entire lifetime of practice and work wouldn’t even come _close_ to capturing his essence, his _beauty_.

“I don’t know,” Eliott lies, “I’ll have to think about it.” And think about it he will. As much as he _wants_ to draw Lucas as he is, a bit disheveled from a day of school, relaxed and _happy_ , here at the apartment, his artistic skills have not entered the realm of drawing people yet— at least, not _well._ He’s already been thinking of ways to draw Lucas, but he still hasn’t landed on a spirit animal for him that feels quite right.

Lucas, still looking over at him, smiles and _wiggles_ his eyebrows, teasing. Eliott thinks what he said was innocuous enough, but Lucas had clearly seen something that he hadn’t.

“It’s a shame, though, I don’t have anything left to smoke.” He says, trying to change the subject.

“ _That,_ ” Lucas replies quickly, holding out a small bag, “Is on me.” There has to be at least a couple of grams in the bag. Eliott questions whether that’s the sort of thing that Lucas has on him at all times, before remembering that he has a party to go to— _That’s why he’s here in the first place,_ Eliott reminds himself.

“Wow, you’re really not joking around, huh?” He glances back to Lucas as he takes a whiff of the weed— wow, Lucas really _isn’t_ joking around— and he sees that Lucas has caught his bottom lip in between his teeth. He shakes his head, and Eliott really didn’t know that someone could look so _attractive_. He had heard about lip biting being hot, but he had never really seen anyone look attractive while doing it.

Well, until now.

“Shall we, then?” He asks, and Lucas nods.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 18:53**

Eliott is, in short, _enamoured_ by Lucas.

“I swear, the dude threw everything up!” He exclaims, waving his arms around enthusiastically before taking the joint that Eliott is offering him again. Lucas is talking about one of the parties that he had gone to recently, and Eliott knows that he wouldn’t be able to look away from Lucas right now, even if he wanted to— which he certainly does _not._ The weed has made everything a bit fuzzy at the edges in the best way possible, both of them laughing more freely than they had been before.

“Fuck, how embarrassing!” Eliott has to restrain himself from throwing his head back in laughter— _too much,_ he tells himself— so he sits on the edge of his seat across from Lucas, who leans back into the couch as he takes another hit.

“Gross, right?”

“I would’ve left right away!”

“Same here, like that happens? You leave, you _run.”_ Eliott gets up to put on some music and Lucas looks down at his phone. In that moment, as Eliott briefly turns back to look at Lucas, he realises exactly how much he was basking, _preening_ , in the other boy’s attention, now that he no longer has it. Part of his wants to take the few steps over, lift up Lucas’ chin and force their eyes to meet again; he wants to pull him in so, _so_ gently and—

He flips through the collection of the records on the shelf, trying to bring his thoughts away from kissing Lucas, difficult as that may be. Eliott realizes that his body is suddenly buzzing with energy. Weed typically has the opposite effect on him, be he thinks that it must be Lucas’ effect. He wants to be liked by Lucas so _badly_ , and at this point he doesn’t even care in what way, he just knows that he wants to spend as much time with him as possible.

He also wants to calm the buzzing in his limbs, and he knows exactly how to do that.

“So, let me guess…” Lucas says as Eliott flips the chosen record in his hands a few times, “a little Chopin?” Eliott thinks for a moment, _actually, I think we do have some Chopin.._ “No, wait, no… Some nice jazz!” With that, Eliott realizes that Lucas is _teasing_ him, finally dishing back what he had been playfully doing to him since their encounter at the bus station.

“Jazz, really, do I look _that_ corny?”

“No, you don’t,” Lucas responds without missing a beat, “it’s just that… Your turntable makes you look like an antiques collector.” Eliott scoffs, _an antiques collector? Really?_

“Alright, well, listen to this.” He responds, a challenge, before putting his chosen record on. It’s not one of his all-time favourites, but it’s one of the ones that he loves to dance to: a popping, lively dubstep record. He’s probably moving around quite strangely but he doesn’t care, and for once he doesn’t care that he’s being watched because it’s _Lucas_. Lucas who he wants to know and who he wants to like him but also the same Lucas who he feels so wonderfully free around.

 _You don’t have to hide,_ he tells himself.

After he’s finished dancing he turns the volume down a bit before sitting down across from Lucas. “Do you like it?”

“It’s cool!” Lucas says with what he hopes is genuine enthusiasm, “It’s just that I don’t usually listen to that kind of music, but…”

“Oh yeah? What do you like to listen to?” Now Eliott’s curious, and this is the perfect opportunity to get to know Lucas, _the cute boy sitting right across from me, in my own house—_

He distracts himself by lighting another joint “I don’t know, more rock ‘n roll,” Lucas starts and Eliott would have rolled his eyes at how cliche that is if he wasn’t hanging off of Lucas’ every word, “Nirvana, The Stones, The Beatles,” cliche, but not, he admits only to himself, bad choices “The Clash!” Lucas’ eyes light up when he mentions the last one, and Eliott makes a mental note of that.

“And _I’m_ the corny one?” He says, trying and failing to make his voice drip with anything other than affection. Lucas laughs again, more a breath than anything else, dipping his head down for a moment before coming back up with a smile that makes Eliott’s legs go weak. To add insult to injury, Lucas is still looking right at him, smiling over at him, smiling _because of him—_

“I can put on some Queen, if you want.” He says, instead of thinking about the fact that he wants one of two things to happen, he either wants to stare at Lucas smiling at him like that until he takes his last breath, or he wants to kiss the smile off his face right here, right now.

“No, it’s okay. I like discovering new things.” Eliott’s not sure whether it’s the weed that’s taken away some of his inhibitions or the fact that he’s so _close_ to Lucas right now, but when he hears “discovering new things” he blows out a smoke rings after a long drag— not his best work, also not his worst. Lucas’ eyes follow it, and Eliott might even go as far as to say that they’re a bit _hooded_ , in what he’s not sure but that’s yes another expression that he wants to bring back by any means necessary. He blows the rest of the smoke away, and the ring with hit, bopping his head along to the music in the background. Lucas smiles at him again, before doing an incredibly bad DJ impression as the song comes to a close, that Eliott wants to laugh at but he finds it so _endearing—_

They stay like that for a while, goofing around and listening to music in comfortable company.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 19:34**

Eliott isn’t sure if it’s because of the weed or because of the time he’s been able to spend with Lucas, but he can’t really feel his legs— in the good, relaxed way, not the medical-concern way. Lucas seems to be in a similar situation, stretched out right beside him on the couch, a similar expression on his face.

His beautiful, beautiful face.

Everything is pleasantly warm and slow, his movements are relaxed, his whole _being_ relaxes when he’s high, which is a much needed change from his normal state of being. He doesn’t have to think about whether or not he’s looking at Lucas too much, and he loves that, because he’s very quickly realized he wants to look at Lucas and never stop, wants to look and look and touch and _kiss—_

Eliott realizes, snapping out of his reverie ever so slightly, that they’re sitting there in complete silence.

“Fuck, we have to change the record.” He says, his voice a bit hoarse from the joints, and Lucas turns to look at him, blinking slowly with hooded eyes. Even in his current state, Eliott stows that look away in his mind for future reference.

“You don’t wanna get up at all, do you?”

“Yeah, no, right now, not at all.” He tries not to look between the two of them and how _close_ they are when he says that, but he doesn’t care too much when he fails. He tries not to follow Lucas’ eyes as they flick downward to his lips when he takes another drag, but he doesn’t care when he notices.

Doesn’t care at all.

What he _does_ care about is exactly how close they are to each other. He cares about the fact that he could reach out and pull Lucas closer so _easily_ , could pull him in for a hug, pull him in and hold him gently there for as long as the two of them wanted— and he hopes Lucas wants, even half as much as he does— or for a kiss, for _several_ kisses… He’s not quite sure where these thoughts came from, but he can’t get them out of his head now that they’re there.

He isn’t really sure that he wants them to go, though.

A moment later, Lucas gets up, and Eliott has to hide his disappointment. He’s confused for a brief moment before his previous train of thought comes back to him— _changing the record—_ and he realizes that Lucas has a good reason for getting up from the couch. He places the record gently on the shelf after taking it off the turntable and then pauses once he sees the piano. Eliott uses it maybe once a week, he took lessons for about a year as a kid but nothing really came of them. He likes the way it looks and sounds, though, and his parents can both play decently, so in the apartment it stays.

Lucas opens the piano up and presses down on a few keys experimentally— Eliott’s not sure whether it was a chord or not, but it sounded good enough to be one.

“You know how to play?” Lucas asks him, turning to look back toward the couch. Eliott shrugs as he blows out the remains of a drag.

“Well, I can tell you that my _Für Elise_ cover is unbelievable.” Lucas laughs at him again, another one that’s more a breath than a laugh but he wants to hear it again, he wants to be funny for Lucas and make him laugh a million _million_ times. “I can also play the _Star Wars_ theme. But I don’t want to impress you too much.”

“Can I try?”

“Mm,” Eliott nods, smiling over at Lucas as the younger boy sits down because how can he _not,_ in a moment like this? This is perfect, he feels good and Lucas seems to feel good, too. They’re happy and laughing and everything feels so light and easy and he never wants this feeling to stop. Lucas tries out three of the keys, one by one, and it feels almost childlike, a young boy’s first lesson.

“I also have a triangle, if you want.” Eliott offers jokingly, because he’s certainly not one to be talking. Lucas could be the worst piano player on the planter and he would still listen to anything he had to play. Lucas tries the three keys again, this time adding a fourth. He repeats them over and over, a bit faster each time, before his left hand comes in on the lower registers.

Eliott’s heart skips a beat.

When Lucas asked if he could try, Eliott expected him to play something well known, something easy. He expected to recognize it, but this piece… _Did he write it?_ He certainly could have written it, because with every new moment they spend together Eliott discovers a new talent that Lucas has. At this point, he settles on the notion that Lucas is the sort of person who is effortlessly good at everything, including playing the piano. Eliott feels _drawn_ to Lucas as he continues to play, sitting up to look at Lucas properly. He can only catch glimpses of his hands working, his head swaying a bit along with them, and he has never experienced something that is so beautiful and yet so _not enough_ in his life. Everything with Lucas is like a reward from the universe, but it only leaves him greedy for more, more, _more—_

Lucas looks back for reassurance and all Eliott can do is smile, a silent gesture of _keep going, please, never stop playing._ Lucas smiles back, small but sure, before he turns his attention back to the keys, continuing with a slight key change. A few moments later he brings the piece to a close, slowing down before stopping with the press of a single chord, its sound ringing out in the otherwise silent room.

Lucas finishes and looks back again, unsure, and Eliott wants to hug him, wants to hold him and never let go because that the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard and because Lucas is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Because he’s in love with Lucas, he realizes. Much in the same way that you realize the sun is out or that a fresh blanket of snow has fallen overnight. Surprising but natural and so, so beautiful.

“That was crazy.” It feels like they’re in a bubble. Nothing can touch them here, while they’re together. It’s him and Lucas and only they exist.

“Yeah, well, it’s no _Star Wars_ theme, but…” Lucas says, and Eliott knows that he’s joking, he _must_ be joking. He _has_ to know that he’s just played the most beautiful song Eliott’s ever heard, and that it will repeat in his brain for days, weeks, for _ever_.

“You’re surprising,” Eliott says, because there is nothing else in his vocabulary, in French or the decent amount of English that he knows, that could describe Lucas any better. Lucas looks at him, steady and unreadable, and Eliott blinks, eyes flicking downward, hesitating under Lucas’ gaze as he tries to find more words to say. “I like people who are surprising.” Lucas smiles at him again and _wow,_ he really needs to stop doing that if he doesn’t want to be kissed, because Eliott’s thoughts from before are only getting stronger, multiplying quicker and quicker.

It’s only a matter of time before he surrenders to them, he thinks.

Eliott’s phone buzzes in his hand, and when he looks down he realizes that he has several missed messages.

 

 **MESSAGE DE:** Lucille

Hey, I’m on my way.

 **MESSAGE DE:** Lucille

Just got off at the station.

 **MESSAGE DE:** Lucille

I’m gonna assume you’re busy with something, but I’ll be there soon, so please be ready.

 **MESSAGE DE:** Lucille

Eliott??

 

“Fuck! I gotta go, I completely forgot.” Eliott wants to tell Lucas why he has to go, to assure him that his reasons are genuine, but a part of his brain tells him not to mention his girlfriend. “I have to meet some friends right now.” He supposes that’s true enough of him, Lucille is a friend, she just so happens to also be his _girlfriend_ , but Lucas doesn’t need to know that.

Because he doesn’t want Lucas to think that he’s happy with her.

Because he _isn’t_ happy with her.

Because he hasn’t been happy with her in a long time.

Because he’s going to end it soon.

Because he’s happier with him.

“Yeah well, I have to go, too, to the party.” Lucas says noncommittally. He gathers his things and gets ready to leave quickly, and Eliott can’t help but feel bad.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry for kicking you out like this, but I completely lost track of time.” Eliott says as he opens the front door, guiding Lucas out. “But it was really cool.” And it was, it was the coolest time he’s had with anyone in a while. He spent _hours_ not worrying about anything, just spending time with the boy that he has a heinously big crush on.

“Absolutely.”

“We should do it again sometime.” _Please, can we do it again sometime?_

“Whenever you want.” Lucas replies, leaving the ball in Eliott’s proverbial court. “And thanks for the beer.” Lucas turns to leave, but then Eliott’s whole being panics momentarily, and he reaches out to stop Lucas without thinking.

 _Just once,_ he thinks, as he reaches out to touch Lucas’ hair, grabbing what must be only a few strands, under the guise of fixing it, or of getting a bit of fluff— but really he just wanted to touch Lucas’ hair.

“Bye!” Eliott says, closing the door. The last things he sees is Lucas still stood there, eyebrows furrowed a bit. Part of him wants to catch him, to open the door again and ask him what he’s thinking about, but even slightly-high-and-lovestruck Eliott knows that would be strange. So he shoots a text to Lucille before grabbing his jacket.

 

 **MESSAGE À:** Lucille

Sorry, lost my phone for a bit. I’ll be out in a minute!


	5. (tendue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliott's date with Lucille, after the events of episode two.
> 
>  _When he had his first depressive episode after his diagnosis, he asked her why she does it. Why she stays. He remembers her sad smile, he remembers the gentleness as she kissed him, and he remembers her saying_ “because I love you.” __
> 
> _His most recent one, though, was after they had a fight. He doesn’t remember what it was about— their personalities have been clashing more and more lately— but he had gone manic and done stupid, stupid things. He had come back from the hospital, and Lucille had been told to keep an eye on him, by both his parents and his doctors. The wound that the fight left was still fresh._
> 
> _He asked her again, the morning after he had come back._
> 
>  _She had said, her back turned to him, through gritted teeth,_ “because no one else will.” __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all today, Eliott's character has truly left me possessed!  
> My plans for bonus chapters still remain, but this ended up being longer than expected, and I think it holds its own well enough to be a standalone chapter.  
> This chapter is complete speculation about what their relationship is like. I've had somewhat similar experiences with people close to me, and I know the feeling of walking on eggshells well.  
> This is the first bonus chapter, too, if you don't count the prologue. Let me know what you think! Not proofread as per usual, so let me know if you spot any typos.  
> Requests for this fic/elu ficlets?? shoot me an ask on tumblr [@paspeurpaspeurpaspeur](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/)!! I'd love to hear from you!!  
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!!

He hasn’t gone on a proper date with Lucille in a long time.

When their relationship was still fresh he had been a big fan of grand gestures, sweeping her away to fancy restaurants and movies and all of the classic date locations. Then they had settled into their lives together, and the dates became fewer and farther between. Now he’s busy with the second try of his  _ bac, _ she’s busy with her first year of university, and they’re attending different schools. It would be difficult, even in the best of circumstances. 

But his circumstances aren’t the best, by any means.

Because he’s looking at her, and all he can think of is that he wanted to spend more time with Lucas.

He feels bad about it, genuinely. As much as he resents Lucille for the way she treats him sometimes, there are other times in which it seems like she’s the only one that understands him. It’s a complicated relationship that they have, it started before his diagnosis, and has lasted all the way through it. She’s helped him through days when he can’t think, can’t speak, can’t move.

When he had his first depressive episode after his diagnosis, he asked her why she does it. Why she stays. He remembers her sad smile, he remembers the gentleness as she kissed him, and he remembers her saying  _ “because I love you.” _

His most recent one, though, was after they had a fight. He doesn’t remember what it was about— their personalities have been clashing more and more lately— but he had gone manic and done stupid, stupid things. He had come back from the hospital, and Lucille had been told to keep an eye on him, by both his parents and his doctors. The wound that the fight left was still fresh.

He asked her again, the morning after he had come back.

She had said, her back turned to him, through gritted teeth,  _ “because no one else will.” _

That was the beginning of the end, for him.

He told his therapist about that moment, still on the tail-end of depression, tears threatening to fall. She told him that it wasn’t true, that he was worthy of being taken care of, and having someone to take care of in return, and other things that therapists are required to say. 

He remembers his voice, shaky, asking his therapist  _ “but what if she’s right?” _

Every word that came out of Lucille’s mouth had been soured for him since.

It certainly doesn’t help that she has taken on the role of caregiver, against his will. That’s where a lot of their conflict lies these days, they wrestle over his own agency. She restricts him, restrains him from doing things that he wants to do, saying that it’s “for his own good,” whether it actually is or not. It’s getting harder and harder for him to bear, and he doesn’t want to snap at her, and he doesn’t know what his brain will do. He’s scared of what will happen, but most of all he’s scared of himself.

For now, though, he smiles and nods and kisses as if there’s nothing wrong. They get coffee and go for a walk through a park that he isn’t paying enough attention to remember the name of, and he’s only half-conscious of her words and his own replies. It’s late and he wants to be at home, he needs some time to himself, he needs to sleep, he needs to  _ not be here. _

“— Eliott?” he jolts back into awareness when he hears his name. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” He says gently, smiling at her. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“Everything alright?”

“I think so. Just a bit stressed.” He tries his best not to sound tense, and to say the right things. With Lucille, there are right and wrong things to say when she asks him about how he’s feeling, and he really isn’t in the mood for her judgement. 

“Stressed? Don’t you know the ins and outs of passing the  _ bac  _ yet? The second time around should be a piece of cake.” He thinks she’s joking, her tone seems to give that away, but in any case, it’s an incredibly low blow. Last year’s failure is one of his biggest insecurities, and he tries not to think of it. 

But it seems to be one of Lucille’s favourite things to bring up.

“Lucille, please,” he says with a sigh, “you know I don’t like it when you bring that up.”

“Sorry,” she says unconvincingly, “I was just joking.”

“But it’s not a joke, and me failing isn’t funny.”  _ It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through,  _ he wants to say, but he doesn’t think she’ll ever understand that, no matter how many times he says it.

“Eliott, come on,” she says pleadingly, “You really ought to make the best of a bad situation. At least it can be joked about—”

“Is me being depressed funny to you?” He asks, interrupting her. “Is me losing all of my friends funny? Is me trying to  _ kill—” _

_ “Eliott,” _ this time it’s her interrupting him, in the tense, quiet tone of a parent publicly scolding their child. “This is  _ not  _ something that should be discussed out in public.” Her face softens, and he can see the effort that takes her. “You’re fine now, and that’s all that matters. Why focus on the past?”

He wants to grab her. He wants to grab her and shake her and scream that  _ it’s not the past, this is still happening and it will always happen and I can never know what will happen to me or what my brain will do and I need you to recognize that and I need you to stop being so overbearing and I need you to— _

“Yeah,” he says instead, deflated,  _ defeated. _ “You’re right.” He wants to be heard, but more than anything he doesn’t want to fight. He’s tired of fighting, with her and with himself.

“You don’t sound very convincing.” She says, and he can tell that’s she’s still upset with him,  _ why is she always upset with him? _

“Sorry, I  _ do _ mean it,” he lies, “Like I said, I’m just really tired.”

“It’s okay, Eliott.” She says, and somehow he doesn’t believe her. He barely trusts anyone when he hits the paranoid phase of his mania, but he’s not manic now, and nothing she says to him is credible. 

“I think I might go home, go to sleep early.” He says, hesitant. At this point, though, he doesn’t care much about upsetting her, as she’s upset at him already anyway.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

_ No.  _

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I just want to be alone for a bit.”

“Oh.” Lucille sounds hurt, but he just can’t find it in him to care anymore. She gets hurt from the smallest things, and lashes out over things that are even smaller—  _ what do you mean you haven’t done laundry in two weeks; we’ve been over this same sort of question three times; you can’t just be depressed forever— _ and he doesn’t care anymore.

“I’ll text you. I’m okay, I swear.” He says, and he isn’t sure whether he’s lying or not, about either part of that statement. She pulls him into a hug which he weakly reciprocates.

She kisses him, and his eyes stay open the entire time.


	6. (surprenant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s the day after, and he can still hear the song Lucas played for him in his head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, less than twenty four hours in between writing and posting chapters!  
> This is a little snippet of a scene that I wanted to get done before I write and post the chapter for episode three! I want to keep the instagram posts as incorporated into the fic as best as I can.  
> I'm on tumblr [@paspeurpaspeurpaspeur](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/) if you want to send me anything on there!!  
> Next chapter will be a main, episode-based one, and I'll get it written ASAP.  
> Thank you for reading!!

It’s the day after, and he can still hear the song Lucas played for him in his head.

He makes his breakfast to the swell of the tempo, and he takes his first bite as the key change happens for what is probably the dozenth time. He dances to it, even, swaying as he washes his dishes. He lets his mind wander, and he thinks of Lucas unabashedly, without guilt and without worry. He thinks of his laugh, more breath than anything else, and he thinks of how he wants Lucas to be laughing and happy all the time. He thinks of his smile, and how badly he wants to brush his fingers against Lucas’ lips.

He wants to brush his  _ lips  _ against them too, but if he thinks of that too much then he’ll surely get carried away.

He thinks about his hands, and how they’re surely smaller than his own. Lucas is small, and he  _ loves  _ it. He’s not particularly tall himself, and there are several inches’ worth of a difference. He knows Lucas would be the perfect height to hug, it would be so easy to pull him into his chest, for their breathing and their heartbeats to match each other, to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

He thinks about his hair, messy and fluffy. He thinks of how soft it probably is, and how he wishes he had gotten to touch more of it. He wants to card his fingers through it, twirl it in between his fingers, wants to grip it and gently  _ pull— _

He thinks about sitting next to him, as they have before. But he also thinks about reaching over and joining their hands, about seeing Lucas blush and smile and squeeze his hand in return. He thinks about going about their day, getting food and going for walks and being at school, but while holding hands, and warmth floods through him at the sheer thought of it. 

He wants to cradle Lucas’ cheek in his hand. He wants to touch him, in the most innocent way possible. He also wants to touch him in  _ other  _ ways, but he hasn’t let him think about that yet. He knows he’ll get carried away, that he’ll lose himself in thoughts like those. So he tells himself to wait, that the time for thoughts like that will come, but he has too much to worry about currently.

Then he gets an idea that he needs to draw before it’s left his head completely. His brain works like that, a series of fleeting ideas, vivid creativity followed by nothing at all. So he needs to take advantage of the creative moments, or the ideas would be lost to the void forever.

When he sits down at his desk, his hands do the drawing for him. He barely thinks before the sketch is on the page, the keys of a piano curving off from the foreground to the background, starting to fall apart near the end, the keys ever so slightly floating away. He thinks for a moment, unsure of how to finish it off, before writing “surprenant” at the far end of the drawing, so when he’s looking back through his drawings, he’ll never doubt who this one was about.

Even after he’s finished, he sits at his desk for a while longer and thinks of Lucas. He wonders how he can be so gone for someone that he met properly a week ago, and who he only saw for the first time a few weeks ago. He sighs into the empty room because it doesn’t matter, he could have seen Lucas for the first time five minutes ago and he would be just as gone because everything about him makes Eliott want to get closer, to know him better. When it comes to Lucas, he wants anything, he wants  _ everything. _

He wants, he wants, he  _ wants. _

 


	7. 03— Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This time when he looks though, he catches sight of Chloé pulling him in for a kiss. They’re not too far away from each other, and he can see the stiffness in Lucas’ entire body. He’s glad Chloé’s eyes are closed, because he has a feeling that she would be able to tell that Lucas isn’t very eager to be kissing her right now._
> 
> _Eliott’s breath catches._
> 
> _Lucas’ eyes are open now._
> 
> _They’re open and he’s looking right at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Et voila_ , episode three! Speculation about the in-between, actual episode content, and an instagram scene, all squished into one chapter!  
> This one took me a while, and I'm honestly not sure how I feel about how I wrote this one, so I may go back and make some edits. Speaking of which, I'm actually planning on going back through and editing the whole thing— just cleaning it up, mostly— so things might be a bit different if you check back in a bit!  
> Also, as a teaser/heads up/etc., my plan is that the next chapter is going to be a bonus, Eliott coming home after Lucas' goodbye, and... _dealing_ with all of the built-up tension. I haven't written anything spicy in a bit, so we'll see how that goes.  
> All of the usual notes— let me know about typos/weird things, let me know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

**AVANT JEUDI 16:50**

Eliott floats through the week.

Oddly enough, despite his dreamy state, he manages to get all of his work done. He likes to think of Lucas as the sort of person that works hard— or at least, he wants to work hard for him. Lucas has inspired him, much in the way that celebrities inspire their fans. He wants to work hard for Lucas, he wants to be his best self for the boy that he’s completely, utterly  _ crushing  _ on. He finds himself taken by Lucas, but  _ putain,  _ he’s been taken willingly.

He looks for him everywhere still, and sometimes he catches glimpses. He sees him turning the corner on the way to class; he sees him leaving school; he sees him on the other end of the crow when they’re let in at the beginning of the day. Lucas has become so  _ easily  _ identifiable to him, he could pick him out in a crowd made up of the entire school, he’s sure; he could pick him out as easily as he could his own family. 

It’s also helped that he’s been engaging in what some may call… social media stalking.

It’s not his fault, really. Lucas has so  _ many  _ selfies and videos of himself on his instagram account. It may be partially his fault, however, how much time he spends looking at each and every photo. His favourites are the ones where Lucas is smiling. They’re few and far between— he seems to be more dedicated to capturing his daily life than posting picture of himself— but that makes them that much more precious to him. Quite a few pictures are from early last year, and something warms within him when he looks at Lucas with shorter hair.

He mentally files that away for future exploration.

There’s something about looking through Lucas’ instagram that feels so…  _ personal _ . Eliott really can’t get enough of it. He wants to know what Lucas does on a daily basis, when he’s not at school. He wants to do so many things with Lucas, but, more than anything else, he wants to  _  know  _ him. He wants to know his friends, and his favourite foods, and what he looks like when he’s surprised. He wants to know his family, what he looks like when he’s relaxed, when he’s away from school, when he’s just woken up. Part of him even wants to see Lucas  _ properly  _ high, wait no, drunk— just so he could know how Lucas reacts to that sort of thing. 

Is he the sort that gets really quiet? That wouldn’t surprise him, so far Lucas hasn’t been the biggest conversationalist. 

Is he the sort that gets giggly? Eliott was no stranger to  _ that  _ kind of drunk— he was even guilty of it after  _ just  _ the right amount of rum— and he laughed quietly to himself at the thought of Lucas giggling at everything, at nothing.

Maybe he’s the sort that gets cuddly and affectionate. Eliott lets his mind wander at that idea: being at a party with Lucas, chatting away with people that remain faceless in his mind— only he and Lucas matter in this scenario, anyway— before feeling the gentle weight of Lucas curling into him, hand grazing over his abs as he rests his head on his chest. When he thinks of Lucas pressing feathery kisses to his skin there, he can  _ feel  _ it through his t-shirt, and he subconsciously fists it in his right hand. His heart swells with hope when he realizes that such a situation isn’t  _ impossible _ — Lucas hasn’t given him any reason to doubt that his feelings are mutual.

He hasn’t given him any reason to believe that they are, either, though. Eliott tries to ignore that part, and replays the cuddling scenario in his mind.

Pining never killed anyone.

 

\---

 

It’s days like these when he wonders why he decided to study literature in the first place. There are days when he can’t stop gushing about what he learned to his friends and family— most of whom are interested in the same sorts of things, or at least indulgent of his literary idols— but then there are days like this, when it feels like the period will never end. They’re talking about the English romantic poets, which he only touched on briefly at his old school. The teacher here, however, seems to be  _ obsessed  _ with them. There’s even a moment where he forgets who they’re talking about completely. He looks at the poem on the board and tries to deduce.

_ Byron?  _ No, Byron isn’t nearly this  _ dry _ , even when he’s translated into French. He catches on to bits and pieces of his teacher’s voice “— and this stanza  _ clearly  _ shows Wordsworth’s attention to—”

_ Ah, of course. _

His focus isn’t the best, even on a good day, but a several-lesson-long unit on Wordsworth isn’t helping his case by any means. He makes the decision to ask one of his classmates for the notes later, and allows his mind to wander, trying his best to make it seem like he’s paying attention with glances out the window peppered in, rather than the other way around. He wonders what Lucas is doing right now, whether he has a class. He wonders what he looks like when he’s interested in something, and what he looks like when he isn’t. He wonders if he’s staring out the window right now, as bored as Eliott is. He thinks about all of the romance movies he’s seen, with two far apart lovers looking at the stars, thinking about how, at the very least, it’s the same sky that they’re looking at. He thinks about how him and the potentially-staring-out-the-window Lucas that his mind has conjured up are doing the same thing, in a way.

 

\---

 

**JEUDI 16:50**

Eliott brought the scarf with him today.

Until now, he had either forgotten about it, or— more frequently— had been too reluctant to bring it with him, hoping in a small part of his brain that Lucas would come and get it, with other, more physically-minded ulterior motives—

But he ultimately decided on bringing it back, thinking it the right thing to do.

It certainly wasn’t because it had stopped smelling like him.

Classes have finished for the day, and he sees Lucas when he comes out into the courtyard. He’s talking with the same boys that he had seen him with on his first day here, and Eliott tries to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest as he gets closer, approaching Lucas from behind.

“ _ Salut, _ ” He says to Lucas first before repeating the same greeting to the boys around him. Lucas turns and Eliott tries to keep himself from grinning ear-to-ear, but fails miserably. Lucas looks surprised to see him, blinking wide-eyed over his shoulder.

“ _ Salut, _ ” the boys say in response. Lucas says the same a moment after, turning around to face him properly.

“You, ah,” he starts, suddenly nervous. He’s made his first impression with Lucas, but now he has to do it all over again with his friends— his  _ best _ friends? “You forgot this the other day.” He holds the scarf out, trying his best not to look as reluctant as he feels about returning it.

“Hey, that’s my scarf!” One of the boys behind Lucas says, reaching out to take it. “Where did you find it?”

“You found it— he,” Eliott was ready to answer, but Lucas beat him to it. “In.. In the  _ foyer _ ..?” _ The foyer? Really? Is he delusional, does he not remember—  _ “Thanks dude, it’s cool.” They gaze at each other for a moment, and it’s  _ wrong _ . The last time he had looked at Lucas, they were loose and relaxed and open. Now, Lucas is the complete opposite, his mouth a tight line. There’s something in Lucas’ voice that he hasn’t heard before, something in his gaze that he’s never seen. A restraint to his words, a tightness to his tone, a pleading in his eyes. 

It’s not a good look for him.

Something cold curls in Eliott’s stomach, a sickness of sorts, and he drops the subject.

“No problem, dude,” He says as nonchalantly as he can manage. He casts a last glance at Lucas’ friends, and a _final_ final one at Lucas, barely a fraction of a second. “ _Salut!_ ” he says, turning and heading toward the bus station.

He doesn’t look back, even when they all respond.

 

\---

 

When he arrives at  _ la petite ceinture _ , the sun is just beginning to set. It’s all very poetic, and if he was feeling more creative, he would probably pull out his notebook and write a couple of lines about it, but his brain is far too occupied because  _ why did Lucas react that way? _ All he did was bring back a scarf. He sits down in the shade of the bridge. He didn’t even think Lucas capable of being so…  _ cold _ . Was it something that he said? Something that he did? It’s not like they kissed— unfortunate as that fact is— boys can hang out with each other, can’t they? Lucas has a whole  _ group _ of boys that he seems to spend all of his free time with. Can he not be one of them? 

Is he not good enough?

_ Breathe,  _ he hears, in his therapist’s voice.  _ Deep in… Deep out.  _ He’s conscious enough of his thoughts to recognize that they’re most likely not wholly rational. He’s stressed with school and crushing on a boy— not an ideal combo for even, rational thinking. Lucas could have his own host of problems and worries in his own life, so Eliott may not have been the reason for his closed off nature earlier. He sends a silent prayer to whatever powers may be that Lucas is alright. No matter what Lucas feels in return, Eliott can’t deny that he cares for him. He cares for him very much, and he hopes that he’s doing okay.

Now he’s worried for a whole other reason, and so he pulls out his book.

He’s been trying to get through Woolf in English. It’s proven successful, slowly but surely. He knows  _ Orlando— _ in French, at least— like the back of his hand. He could probably recite entire paragraphs, though he’s never tried. The English feels strange in his mind, and awkward on his tongue when he decides to read it aloud, but he likes it. There’s something special about reading the people he admires in their mother tongue, even if it isn’t his own. When he needs comfort he turns to either Woolf or Montaigne, and tonight is a night for the former. Reading her in English requires most of his concentration, and it takes his mind off of his worries quickly. It gets dark to the point where he spends a bit reading by flashlight, and it’s only when he starts to get too cold for comfort that he gets up. He puts his book back in his bag and wiggles his arms and legs a bit to wake them up, looking around at his surroundings. The starlight is shining over the trees beautifully, and he knows his phone camera won’t be able to do it justice. He shines his flashlight up into the air, though, and snaps a picture. It’s as hazy and dark as the night, and he thinks it quite appropriate for his eclectic instagram. He makes a mental not to post it once he’s back home and connected to the wi-fi, before popping his headphones into his ears and setting off back home.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 21:00**

As much as he believes in Daphné and her determination, he really wasn’t expecting such a large turn-out. 

There has to be nearly a hundred people crowded around the front gate, more than he’s ever seen before classes. He’s near the back so he can barely hear what Daphné is saying to the front of the crowd. He had brought the party up to Lucille, and he had almost wanted to reject her when she said if she could come…  _ almost _ . Even when they were in high school together she seemed to put herself above events like these, so he’s not sure why she wants to come to a school that she doesn’t know, to an event that she doesn’t like, with largely younger people than her. That’s always been one of her pet peeves, the underclassmen trying to do anything significant or trying to say anything significant. She was a firm believer of the hierarchy of high school, wherein the third years had all of the power, and the first years were barely worth talking to. Bringing her here seems like a recipe for disaster, but he also can’t have her thinking that there’s anything out of the ordinary going on— with him, with them, with anything.

At least until he can find the right way to say “ _ I’m breaking up with you because I’m in love with someone else”  _ without hurting her, subconsciously scanning the crowd for any sign of Lucas.

He’s not sure those words exist.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the sounds of the gate unlocking, and then he floods into the school grounds with the rest of the crowd, his arm thrown around Lucille.

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 21:36**

He spots Lucas pretty much immediately, and he has to hide the mix of emotions that come over him. The mask helps.

First and foremost, he’s excited. Excited because any time spent in his presence, even in his  _ vicinity _ , feels significant, important somehow. He’s excited because he’s crushing on him harder and harder every day, and even though he wants to touch and kiss and  _ touch _ , he’s content to see him happy, and to spend time with him. Secondly, however, he remembers their short conversation from the other day. It was impersonal, cold, and everything that Lucas wasn’t— to him anyway. Is that the  _ real  _ Lucas, and has he been putting on a front for him?

He guides Lucille over to Lucas, under the guise of simply surveying the  _ foyer _ for a spot for them to stop and dance. Lucas spots him quickly and watches him approach unblinkingly, that same surprised expression on his face.

_ “Salut,  _ dude. _ ”  _ He says to him, his mask hiding the smile on his face. He remembers some English quote about absence making the heart grow fonder, and he’s certainly finding that to ring true for him. Even looking at Lucas is making his whole body warm and he would be content to look at him forever and—

“ _ Salut, _ Eliott!” He was really trying to ignore Chloé, her and her forced self-insertion into his conversations with Lucas, which he doesn’t care for at all, Lucas’ girlfriend or not. “ _ Salut, _ ” She says, turning a bit to face Lucille, introducing herself, “Chloe.”

“Lucille!” She responds with equal enthusiasm. He, however, cannot take his eyes off Lucas, who’s staring at him with equal intensity. The tension could be cut with a knife between them all of a sudden, but the problem lies in the fact that he doesn’t know  _ what sort  _ of tension it is, whether Lucas is mad at him for having done something or surprised to see him here or… something else, that Eliott doesn’t let himself think about too much. They pause for a beat before he continues on, walking past Lucas while Lucille follows.

The way Lucas turns to watch him go doesn’t escape his notice.

 

\---

 

Things with Lucille are easy, routine. They’re easy in the same way that making breakfast is easy, or doing laundry, or bussing home after a long day. They fit together easily as they dance, more hopping up and down than anything else to the light, bouncing EDM beat. They’re chatting about their day, as best as they can over the music, and he twirls her around a few times. He knows exactly where Lucas is, their gazes have met fleetingly a couple of times over the past few songs. He can’t help checking back to that spot at the end of every sentence that they say.

This time when he looks though, he catches sight of Chloé pulling him in for a kiss. They’re not too far away from each other, and he can see the stiffness in Lucas’ entire body. He’s glad Chloé’s eyes are closed, because he has a feeling that she would be able to tell that Lucas isn’t very eager to be kissing her right now. 

Eliott’s breath catches.

Lucas’ eyes are open now.

They’re open and he’s looking right at him.

A flash of confidence comes over him, then, when he thinks  _ two can play at this game. _ He doesn’t have time to wonder whether Lucas looking at him was a fluke because he’s kissing Lucille, they approach each other slowly and teasingly, almost, and then he’s looking right back at Lucas again. The other boy’s eyes close for a beat and then they’re open again, too.

Is it bad that this is the single hottest thing he’s ever done?

It’s so easy to imagine that he’s kissing Lucas when he’s looking right at him, when he tilts his chin up in a challenge, when their gazes are unbroken and Lucas is finally,  _ finally _ letting him do all the looking that he wants. He’s greedy, now that he’s gotten this. This is all of the confirmation he needs, and now he knows it’s only a matter of time. The thought of that and the sight of Lucas, and  _ god, _ he really hopes that Lucille doesn’t notice that he’s half-hard— and he really  _ really  _ hopes that she doesn’t figure out that it’s not because of her. He could do this forever, it’s almost as if they’re suspended in this moment, looking and kissing and kissing and looking and it will never end.

It sends only a couple of seconds later, unfortunately.

The music stops, the lights are on, and Lucas is blinking bewilderedly, similarly to everyone else.

“Code red! I repeat, code red! This is not a drill!” Daphné and her friends come into the middle of the crowd yelling. It takes him a moment to process the words, still a bit dazed from the moment that he had just shared with the boy that he’s crushing on.

“It means move your asses, the night guard is here!” one of her friends shouts, and  _ oh fuck _ . This was exactly what everyone had been dreading, but the night guard was earlier than expected. “Go, go, go!”

“Every man for himself!” He grabs Lucille’s hand and they run. Early on, though, he realizes that he’s not only let her go but lost track of her, and he really doesn’t care all that much. Not only because he knows how capable she is of taking care of herself and talking her way out of trouble, but because he still feels buzzed about Lucas.

Lucas. 

_ Where is he? _

He runs near the front of the pack, and when he gets to a safe spot he looks for Lucas. He hopes he’s safe, he needs him to be safe. As people run off of school grounds, scattering after they get through, he sees him, frozen and looking for someone… Chloé?

… Him?

He’s running to grab him before he knows what’s happening. He comes out from his spot against the wall, grabs Lucas’ arm, and returns, slamming both of them against it. Lucas is breathing hard, and then his face breaks out into a smile. He tries not to think about how good he looks, breathing hard in the low light with streaks of paint across his cheeks.

“Fuck, that was close.” Lucas says, voice almost a whisper, and Eliott laughs as best as he can, given the fact that he’s out of breath too. He wants to ask him what the  _ fuck  _ he was doing, looking at him while kissing his girlfriend. He wants to ask him is he can do it again. They’re looking at each other now in a way that isn’t completely different, and they’re so,  _ so  _ close. 

He doesn’t want to ask if they can do what they did during the party again, actually.

He wants to ask Lucas if he can kiss him, for real this time.

Because now he knows— with only  _some_ shadow of a doubt— that he wants to, and the thought of it is on the verge of consuming him entirely.

“Shall we go?” He suggests instead. “I’ll walk you home.” He can see Lucas think about it before nodding once. There’s something in his eyes that Eliott hasn’t seen before.

“Okay.”

 

\---

 

He could really get used to Lucas’ presence beside him. As they walk home they chat aimlessly, about how Eliott is settling into life at the  _ lycée _ , about his classes and how he learned quite a bit of the content before and he’s spent a lot of his time bored in class; about how it’s different to his old school. Their chatter is easy, and being beside Lucas feels so  _ right _ , he wants to walk and chat for the rest of time, he thinks. Lucas doesn’t ask him  _ why _ he switched either, which he’s thankful for. 

He wants to tell him. 

He wants to open up to Lucas about everything, he wants him to know all of his worries and all of his past struggles and the fact that they could come back at the drop of a hat. He wants to know Lucas’, in return. He wants to be able to brave to storm of young adult life together. He just hasn’t found the words to say yet. He’s never had to tell anyone that he’s been with. He and Lucille had gotten together before he was diagnosed— about a year before he was diagnosed, actually— and so she found out when he did. He doesn’t know  _ how  _ to tell someone that he’s interested in about it— just casually slip it in to conversation,  _ “oh, by the way, I have bipolar disorder, and it impacts nearly every aspect of my life, also I think I’m in love with you,”  _ and hope that Lucas doesn’t run for the hills?

“Things are moving fast between you and… Chloe.” He decides on instead. If he’s honest, he nearly forgot her name. In his head she exists as  _ the girl that constantly interrupts my conversations with Lucas _ first, and  _ Lucas’ girlfriend _ second. 

He’s not so sure about the second one after tonight, though.

“Yeah, she’s cool.” Lucas responds noncommittally. Even if Eliott wasn’t begging and pleading with the universe for Lucas to be even remotely attracted to boys— and things are looking good after the  _ foyer _ party— Lucas doesn’t seem like the most enthusiastic boyfriend when it comes to his interactions with her. “I don’t know, like… She’s way into me, it’s stressing me out.” He looks at Lucas, his face pointed down toward the sidewalk. He shakes his head a bit before looking over at him, and they share a wordless glance for a moment that probably feels longer than it is, before Lucas changes the subject. “What about you and Lucille? Have you been together long?” It feels like he’s avoiding a landmine, right now. He doesn’t want to sound like an asshole, but he also doesn’t want to sound like he’s into her still. He wants to sound like he’s interested in Lucas but not interested enough to scare him away; he wants to seem like he’s content enough with Lucille to justify having stayed with her, but he also wants to convey that he’s been ready to end things for a long time.

“Long enough, yeah.” He says with a shrug. They stare at each other silently again, and he really hopes that Lucas feels what he’s feeling, right now. There’s…  _ something _ in the air, between them. Something that he wants to bottle, to open up and feel bursts of while they’re apart, to keep him going until they see each other again.

“It shows.” Lucas replies, and he wishes nothing more than to be able to read Lucas’ mind. His expression is neutral, and he isn’t sure what that means. “It’s cool. She seems awesome.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.” He thinks of their good moments when he says that, and manages to have it come out sounding honest. The beginning was the best, for them. Everything was new for him, he had fooled around with people, sure, but Lucille was his first  _ actual  _ relationship. She had taught him a lot of things, she was an example in one moment, and a cautionary tale in the next. “But I think we’re near the end.” He doesn’t have to try and say that one with honesty, it comes out exactly as he wanted it to. “I don’t know, our relationship is going in circles. I don’t know if I still want that.” He realizes that this is the first time that he’s vocalized the fact that he wants to break up with Lucille, and it makes it feel more concrete. His voice will probably be echoing around somewhere in the universe forevermore, and that feels more solid than thoughts echoing around in his head.

“To be in a relationship?” Lucas asks, looking over at him once again.

“No, I  _ do _ want to be in a relationship.” He wants to be in a relationship quite a lot, actually. He loves being cared for, and having someone to care for. He loves being known, and being accepted and embraced nonetheless.

He just doesn’t love being known in that way by Lucille.

“So you see yourself with a new girl straight away, then.” Lucas says, and no, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t. He sees himself with Lucas, he sees them together every time he closes his eyes, every time he lets his mind wander.

“Yeah.” He knows he needs to choose his words carefully, to find a balance between  _ holy shit I’m crushing on you so badly it hurts  _ and nonchalance. “Not necessarily a girl, though.” He says with a shrug—  _ casual, casual, casual _ — and the surprised look on Lucas’ face as their eyes meet again is priceless.

It’s also all the answer he needs.

They stare at each other for a long while, before Lucas stops walking, turning to look at him.

“We’re here.” He says simply, and then they’re looking at each other again. They’re looking and looking and  _ looking  _ and the  _ something  _ that was in Lucas’ eyes as they left the school is back in full force. He turns around completely so their whole bodies are facing each other. A shiver runs up his spine from the intensity of Lucas’ gaze alone. Eliott looks up at the building, before flicking his eyes back down to Lucas’ face.

“This is where we say goodnight, then.” He says, trying to return the intensity of the look Lucas is giving him. The way Lucas’ lips are pursed  _ just so _ , pouting ever so slightly,  _ must  _ be intentional, he decides, because it isn’t possible for someone to subconsciously look as enticing as Lucas does right now. Lucas’ eyes are so  _ blue _ , even in the light of a streetlamp. Anything could be happening around them right now and he wouldn’t notice, his entire world is him and Lucas, in this moment. He feels a pull that is bordering on physical, the universe telling him to get  _ closer, closer, closer _ . He can see Lucas’ eyes moving, searching him for something, and he wants to say something, to make it more obvious— though he isn’t sure if that’s possible— that he wants to kiss him  _ right now _ but then they’re both leaning in, millimetre by millimetre. He can see Lucas shifting ever so slightly, still looking at his as they just begin to lean in and—

“ _ Salut!”  _ He wouldn’t have noticed that someone had spoken if Lucas hadn’t turned around. But he did, to look at a girl that he assumedly knows. She’s smiling over at them, but Lucas isn’t when he looks back, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Goodnight, Eliott,” he says, “See you around.” And then he’s walking away, toward the girl, and if anything, Eliott is more confused than he’s ever been.

 


	8. (fiévreux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He thinks of Lucas, pressed against his neck, murmuring_ “I love you,” _and he comes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, to start off, i just wanted to thank everyone who has commented. your support has been truly incredible, and it floors me that people like what i'm writing. i'm more grateful to you than words can describe.  
> ANYWAY, BACK TO REGULARLY SCHEDULED PRE-CHAPTER NOTES  
> \- it's official, i've broken 15k words, wow! and we're breaking that milestone with a couple of sprinkles of spice.  
> This chapter, as you can probably tell, is pretty experimental. i haven't written anything remotely smutty in a little while, and i also wanted to delve a bit more into Eliott's though processes. Let me know what you think!  
> \- the 21 reference is totally intentional— i originally came up with eighteen or nineteen points, but i stretched it out _juuuust_ a bit for the sake of the reference  
> \- Next chapter is probably going to be a main, for episode four. you know what that means... the first kiss!!!  
> \- usual blah blah blah, let me know about typos, if you have any suggestions, and thank you so much for reading.

On the bus ride home, he can still feel Lucas’ gaze on him.

As he gets off the bus, he can feel the way their hands brushed. It only happened a couple of times on their way to Lucas’ place, and it’s simultaneously far too much for him to handle and not  _ nearly  _ enough the satiate him. As he walks through his door, to a still-empty apartment, he thinks about what was mere seconds from happening, and it hits him with the weight of a freight train. He could see Lucas just beginning to lean in, the same as he was. 

He knows, now.

He knows that they almost kissed each other.

He knows that Lucas wants him, in the same way.

His face falls into his hands and he’s grinning like a madman. He isn’t sure who to thank, what god or goddess or  _ whatever _ is up there, somewhere in the cosmos, responsible for controlling the universe, if such a thing even exists. All he knows is that somehow,  _ somehow, _ the boy that he is enamoured with wants him too. The boy he wants to kiss more than he wants anything else in the world right now wants to kiss him back. It feels like he’s floating, like he’s invincible, like nothing else matters.

It feels  _ manic _ .

That brings him crashing back down to earth, if only a little bit. His therapist had told him about moments like this, and what to do when he notices that he’s in one of them. Intense emotion is one of the biggest triggers for an episode for him, he’s found. Whether it’s manic or depressive depends on what has happened, but after a night like tonight he’s definitely leaning toward the former, and he doesn’t want it.  _ Logic, reason, facts,  _ his therapist had toted during their last appointment together, and he makes a list of facts in his head.

_ One, Lucas almost kissed me, which means that _

_ Two, he wants to kiss me. _

_ Three, I want to kiss him, and _

_ Four, I want to do other things with him, too. Actually, _

_ Five, I want to do everything with him, because _

_ Six, I think I’m in love with him. _

_ Seven, it sounds irrational for me to be in love with him, but _

_ Eight, even if we kiss and nothing else— if it only ends up being passing attraction on his part— that’s enough, and _

_ Nine, at least I have the self-awareness to know it sounds irrational, right now. _

_ Ten, I’ll take whatever he gives me. _

_ Eleven, I want to go at his pace, whatever that ends up being. _

_ Twelve, I want everything when it comes to him— smiles and tears and problems— but _

_ Thirteen, I’ll take whatever I can get. _

_ Fourteen, I’m scared of him… No,  _

_ Fifteen, I’m scared of telling him. About myself, about my brain, because _

_ Sixteen, more often than not, I don’t even know what’s going on in my head, and  _

_ Seventeen, I’m scared of it. _

_ Eighteen, I’m scared of myself. _

_ Nineteen, I want to open up to him and I want to know all of him;  _

_ Twenty, I want him to know all of me in return, about my bad days and my good days and my too-good days and everything but _

_ Twenty one, I don’t want to scare him off. _

He sighs, stopping before he can let his mind run away to more worrying things, and he focuses on Lucas and him, him and Lucas. He thinks about the look on Lucas’ face, he thinks about them kissing their girlfriends while staring at each other. He wonders how long they would have done that if Daphné hadn’t interrupted them. He wonders if they would still be doing it, or at least something similar— going about their own nights while sneaking glances, holding their girlfriends and thinking of each other. He thinks about leaving Lucille, leaving her standing alone and stealing Lucas away from Chloé, and kissing him right in front of everyone. 

He thinks of Lucas kissing him back.

He thinks of Lucas humming against his lips, sighing in contentment.

He thinks of kissing Lucas’ neck, and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He thinks of the sounds Lucas would make if he did.

He takes his jacket and shoes off and heads toward his bedroom. He’s content for a moment, with sitting on his bed and palming himself gently, letting the thoughts of him and of Lucas and of him and Lucas return in full force. He lets his shaking breaths out into the empty apartment and he’s starting to get hard thinking of kissing along Lucas’ jawline. The fact that he’s in the state that he’s in from thinking of kissing  _ alone _ makes him feel like he’s twelve again, alternating between the images of faceless girls and boys, unidentifiable bodies for him to explore to his heart’s content in his head. However, this time, the boy in his head is very,  _ very _ real. So real, in fact, that he can almost feel the hand snaking around his waist as he pushes his pants and boxers down, whipping them off as fast as he can, throwing them ungracefully onto his bedroom floor. He can almost feel the other hand that he’s picturing in his hair, carding through it curiously before gripping and  _ pulling  _ it gently, and he groans. The Lucas in his head smiles against his lips at that, breathing out an  _ “Eliott,”  _ in the way that he thinks Lucas would say his name in a moment like this.

He thinks of Lucas pushing him against the wall, and his cock is half hard when he takes it into his hand. He thinks of the way that Lucas would touch him, on hand on his shoulder to ground him, keep him from floating away as he strokes him slowly. He thinks of Lucas panting against his neck, unable to get enough, and that’s enough to get him fully hard. He grips the sheets for purchase when he pictures Lucas coming back up to kiss him fully, open-mouthed and hot against him, their breaths mingling. He thinks about what it would be like to hold Lucas in place by the neck, to pull him in closer and keep him there. He lets himself moan as he thinks about it. He thinks about reaching for Lucas, trying to return the favour but Lucas saying  _ “ah ah, let me take care of you,”  _ how beautiful Lucas would look all flushed, smiling at him like he’s precious, something to be treasured. The him that exists in his head nods and throws his head back when Lucas runs his hand over his slit, just as his own thumb does the same thing. He pictures Lucas kissing and sucking and stroking, holding him against the wall, not to keep him there but to keep his legs from giving out, going faster and faster and  _ faster. _

_ “Eliott,”  _ fantasy-Lucas says,  _ “You’re beautiful,”  _ and he can feel it coming, it starts in the pit of his stomach before spreading out to his limbs and his whole body, fiery in the most delicious kind of way.

He thinks of Lucas, pressed against his neck, murmuring  _ “I love you,” _ and he comes. 

His mouth opens in a silent scream, his back arches, his toes curl, and he comes harder than he has in a long time. Even though the Lucas that just made him come was entirely within his own mind, he feels a sort of shift, a sort of  _ there’s no going back now  _ sort of moment. His feelings are more real, somehow. He wants to think about it more, but a calm sleepiness comes over him as he catches his breath, and after he cleans up, he falls asleep quickly.


	9. 04— Le garçon qui avait peur du noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come on, let’s bounce.”_
> 
> _“What, now?”_
> 
>  _“Yeah, while they’re not here. Let’s get out of here.”_ I want to spend time with you and only you, _he wants to say._ I want you all to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short(ish)-winded pre-chapter notes:  
> \- this chapter ALONE is one of the longest things i've ever written. it's like 7,000 words long.  
> \- AT LONG LAST!! after eight chapters and ~20,000 words, the first kiss is here!!! is that what they call "slow burn"??  
> \- content warning for every first kiss fic cliche there is— because i probably fuckin used it in here lmao  
> \- i went back and edited the prologue. nothing too crazy, but it's a bit longer, so if you want to go back to it, now would be a great time! planning on editing the other chapters, but the prologue's the only one i've gotten done so far.  
> \- let me know abt typos/inconsistencies/etc., and thank you so so much for reading. <3

**AVANT SAMEDI 14:34**

 

When he wakes up the next morning, he winces at the dull ache in his head.

He hadn’t drank a lot last night, but that didn’t stop his body from telling him that he had drank  _ enough _ to get a bit of a hangover. That, and enough to justify sleeping in until noon. In his defence, it  _ is _ Saturday, and his workload this weekend is surprisingly low. He’s not about to question it, though, he’s thankful to be able to have some downtime. He didn’t have plans with Lucille until later, and so he comes into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and scanning through the fridge for food. He wants something easy, so he cracks a couple of eggs and sprinkles some cheese into a pan on the stove. He pops some slices of bread into the toaster oven, and then sits at the table with his breakfast— lunch?— and scrolls through social media for a bit.

He sees Lucas’ most recent instagram post, a picture of Chloé, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. The circumstances would be vastly different if Lucas seemed to be having a good time dating Chloé, if he hadn’t stared at him while he kissed her, if they hadn’t almost kissed last night. He’s aware of the fact that the post was made  _ before _ most of this took place, but it still makes him huff out a frustrated breath nonetheless.

Then, as if something in the universe knew who he was thinking about, his phone buzzes with a message from Lucas.

**Message de: Lucas**

Last night was cool... Are you doing anything this afternoon?

Warmth floods his whole body. He would say that calling last night “cool” is an understatement. All they had done last night was walk and talk for what was maybe half an hour, and he hadn’t been so content, so  _ happy _ , in a long time.

Well, that and make out with their respective girlfriends while staring at each other across the room, which certainly helped make last night everything that it was. Last night was everything that he could have ever wanted and more, and now Lucas wants to hang out again? So  _ soon _ ? 

**Message à: Lucas**

Yeah, last night was nice!

He would love to, he would want nothing more. He would be content if they did the exact same thing as last night, but if they could stare at each other unabashedly, if they could not be interrupted this time, if they could lean in closer and  _ closer  _ and—

But he can’t.

He promised that he would spend the afternoon with Lucille, and he  _ definitely  _ isn’t prepared to deal with her reaction to him bailing, especially since they’re supposed to meet fairly soon. He can almost hear her questions, the  _ why  _ and the  _ is there anything going on  _ and the  _ are you doing okay. _

He can hear the  _ you can tell me if you’re depressed today, you now that,  _ and the  _ are you home, i’ll come take care of you _ , and the  _ I’m on my way _ , that she’ll send even if he doesn’t respond to any of his messages.

He can also hear the  _ why didn’t you tell me sooner? _

The _ we never spend time together anymore. _

He can hear the  _ why? _

He can hear the  _ is there someone else? _

He still hasn’t found the language to tell her yet, that  _ yes, yes there is. _

**Message à: Lucas**

But I’m busy today, sorry. See you monday.

He’s disappointed when he doesn’t get a response, more than he ought to be, really. He wants to text him again, send him a  _ can we reschedule for next weekend, though?  _ Or a  _ let’s grab some coffee or something after class, if you’re free.  _ Even a  _ but I really like spending time with you, and we should do it more. _ He thinks of writing down all of the texts he’ll never send to Lucas. He thinks of filling a book with them, writing down every time his brain screams out  _ I love you _ , and maybe giving them to him some day.

Because now the him and Lucas, the  _ them _ , feels almost like an inevitability. It feels like it’s something that they’re hurtling toward, and he isn’t sure what’s stopping Lucas, but he knows his feelings are at least  _ somewhat _ reciprocated and he wants to act on them. He wants Lucas to act on them, and he isn’t sure exactly what it is that’s stopping him— because it  _ certainly _ isn’t Chloé— but he wants to help him.

He wants to know, with utmost certainty, that Lucas wants him. He’s sick of being  _ pretty sure _ , he wants to  _ know _ and he wants to hear Lucas say it. He wants to touch him and hold him and  _ kiss _ him so much it almost hurts.

But instead, he puts his dishes in the sink, to deal with later, and goes into his room to get ready for his day with Lucille.

**AVANT LUNDI 10:50**

He’s in the midst of facing all of the regular reluctance to drag himself to school on a Monday morning, when his phone buzzes. 

He takes his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, and looks at the message while he waits for his toast to pop out. His eyebrows furrow at the message header, before smiling gently once he reads the message itself.

**Message de: [numéro inconnu]**

Hey Eliott! It’s Daphné, Imane gave me your number. One of the things me and the girls have been wanting to do to improve the  _ foyer _ is to paint over that mural on the wall. Lucas said you were into art the other day, so I thought you might be able to come up with some ideas..? Let me know!

Daphné’s enthusiasm for the  _ foyer  _ seems infinite, and he admires that. He really enjoys people who aren’t afraid to show people their passions, and to bring people together for a good cause. His eyes pause as they scan through the message at Lucas’ name. It hits him, then, that Lucas talks about him to other people. That’s nothing out of the ordinary for people who go to school together, especially people who are friends (and he would be  _ honoured _ to be able to call Lucas his friend) but for some reason it means  _ everything  _ to him, that he’s on Lucas’ mind outside of the time that they spend together.

**Message à: Daphné**

Hey! That sounds cool, count me in.

**Message à: Daphné**

Did you have anything in mind?

**Message de: Daphné**

I have a couple ideas, but we’ll take anything at this point. The current mural’s a fucking eyesore, in case you haven’t noticed. Meet me in the  _ foyer _ once you’re done class for the day and we can talk ideas?

**Message à: Daphné**

Sounds good, see you later!

He also appreciates how she seems to actively include him, in things like this. He’s only been at the  _ lycée  _ for a couple of weeks, and she treats him the same way she does everyone else. Being treated like “the new kid” was one of his worst fears about starting at a new school— he didn’t want to be an outsider,  _ again _ . But with Daphné, he feels included, he feels able to blend in.

\---

He’s in between classes when his phone buzzes in his pocket again.

**Message de: Daphné**

I told Lucas you said yes, and now he’s interested in working on the mural too!

His heart leaps in his chest. He knows that they’ve both told each other that they enjoy spending time together, but it continues to floor him that Lucas wants to spend time with him. 

**Message à: Daphné**

That’s awesome, the more the merrier!

He’s typing out a text to Lucas not even a moment later.

 

**LUNDI 10:50**

**Message à: Lucas**

Daphne told me you want to help paint the mural

**Message à: Lucas**

That’s cool! Wednesday? 1pm?

**Message de: Lucas**

Yeah, sure!

He has to stop himself from responding with  _ it’s a date _ , as he’s not sure whether that would be too much.

 

**AVANT JEUDI 16:34**

 

There are days when Eliott wakes up and his brain screams at him that  _ something is wrong _ , but he can never seem to figure out what it is.

Everything about his surroundings are hazy, and it’s as if the whole world has shifted without his knowledge. Whenever he tries to move his limbs, everything feels delayed. He’s slept all night but he feels so, so tired, and can barely muster up the energy to walk to the bathroom. He curls up in bed and fades in and out of sleep throughout the day. He wants nothing more than to have someone here with him, but the only  _ someone _ he really wants here with him is in school right now. His head doesn’t hurt, per se, but it feels… elsewhere. His body is separate from his brain on days like these, and he has enough mindfulness to know that he’ll come back to himself eventually. But he  _ also _ has enough of a lack of mindfulness to know that he isn’t properly here, right now. 

He knows that the  _ lycée  _ will have called his parents, and that they will have vouched for him. They talked about this before he started, that they want him to take care of himself, and they both know that that means he’ll probably have to take some days off. They said that, as long as he kept it to a respectable amount, and that as long as it didn’t interfere with his grades, neither of them had any problems with him taking some mental health days.

He rolls to the other side of his bed, picking up his phone. The clock reads  _ 14:31 _ , and he breathes out a heavy sigh when he sees Lucas’ texts.

**Message de: Lucas**

Am in the common room

**Message de: Lucas**

Dude, where are you?

**Message de: Lucas**

My eyes are bleeding from staring at this mural from hell.

They’re from almost an hour ago. Even if he could find the words to say, to explain himself honestly, he’s still not sure he would respond.  _ You can’t, _ his brain tells him.  _ Lucas will think you’re insane,  _ it tells him. He doesn’t want Lucas to think that he’s bailing, he doesn’t want to think that he’s making excuses, but most of all, he doesn’t want Lucas to think that he’s crazy.

Because he’s not crazy.

He’s not.

 

**JEUDI 16:34**

 

He’s thankful for the fact that his brain has cleared up, if only a bit.

There are times like these, when the dense fog lasts for a day. But there are also times when it lasts for far longer, until he can’t remember what it feels like to feel  _ normal _ anymore. Today, though, he’s functional, he could respond with  _ okay  _ to a question like  _ how are you doing? _ and have it be somewhat honest. He’s definitely had better days, but he’s also had worse ones. 

He had thought of how to make it up to Lucas, mentally drafting a text message asking him to come over again, so he can explain to him what happened, so he can tell him that he’s struggling but he’s trying his best. That everything feels a little bit brighter when they’re together, and that he cares about him very much.

But then he sees Lucas. 

It feels like it’s been  _ ages _ , and he’s almost excited as he starts toward him. But then his stomach lurches when he sees that he’s with Chloé. He momentarily contemplates turning around before he’s spotted, about sending Lucas the text that he had originally been planning on, and not having to interact with Chloé ever again, if he can help it. But that also means that he won’t get to talk to Lucas, and that overpowers any reluctance he feels.

“ _ Salut, _ ” he says as he approaches them, and he hates the way his voice comes out. He sounds exactly like he feels, quiet and shaky, and he immediately tries to dispel the quivering in his tone.

“ _ Salut, _ ” Chloé responds, and he doesn’t even look at her.  _ I’m not talking to you, _ is what he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

“Can I talk to you for five minutes?” He tilts his head off to the side, indicating that he wants to talk to Lucas and Lucas  _ alone _ . Lucas looks over to Chloé for a moment, and he thinks he’s just about to come with him.

“Go for it.” Lucas says as he puts arm around Chloé. He’s looking at him again, in that same way that he did back in the courtyard, with his friends. As if there’s nothing between them, nothing at all. 

It makes Eliott’s heart break, just a little bit.

“...Okay,” he starts, glancing at Chloé, angry and pleading,  _ why are you making this so difficult _ , he thinks at both of them. “I wanted apologize for yesterday. I totally wanted to come, but I had a problem.” He was ready to tell Lucas, if he had been alone. He was ready to say that he was really depressed yesterday, that his body wasn’t working right, that that happens to him sometimes. That he can’t tell when it’s coming and that he can’t prepare for it.

That it felt like drowning, and thoughts of him were the only thing that kept him afloat.

“Shit. Nothing bad, I hope.” Chloé says, and  _ I’m still not talking to you  _ nearly comes out of his mouth, even closer this time. He appreciates her concern, he supposes, and he tries his best to smile at her when he responds.

“No, it’s okay, it got better.” He says to her shortly, before honing his focus in on Lucas once again. “So, to say sorry, do you want to have a drink at my place tomorrow?” He thinks of when they agreed that they should do  _ this _ again sometime, and he thinks that there’s no better time for it than now. “Joints, beers… You can choose the music.”  _ This time,  _ he wants to add on, just to stick it to Chloé, in the hopes that she might go away.

But he doesn’t.

He also doesn’t miss the smile that spreads across Lucas’ face at his suggestion. It’s fleeting, but genuine, and so,  _ so  _ beautiful.

“Well, we were planning on having an evening just the two of us tomorrow.” Chloé says, and he’s ready to suggest that they do it another time, but then Chloé’s eyes light up. “But wait! We can have a double date! Like in the movies!” He tries his best to keep from glaring at her. He knows it doesn’t work. “And I know your girlfriend— I met her at the infiltration party, she seems super cool. Lucille, right?” He knows, deep down, that Chloé means well. There is something infinitesimally tiny in his brain that’s telling him that she has good intentions. 

“Yeah,” He replies flatly, and looks back toward Lucas.

“Cool, we can do it at your place.” Chloé says, and Eliott scoffs. First she steals away the boy he had been flirting with, then she takes his blunt, then she  _ gets _ with the cute boy he had been flirting with, and now she’s insisting that  _ he _ host? He wants to ask her if she’s fucking insane, that she needs to fuck off and let him talk to Lucas alone.

“Okay.” He says instead. Lucas looks up at him, and he remembers all at once why he just agreed to host her.

“Cool!”

“Bye.”

“Bye, it’s gonna be awesome!” Chloé says as he starts to walk away. He’s not sure about that, what with the girl he’s dating, the boy he  _ wants  _ to be dating, and Chloé, all in one room?

With the second of those present, though, it may just be tolerable.

 

**AVANT VENDREDI 19:45**

 

When he gets back into his apartment, he leans against the door. He thinks of the exchange he had had with Lucas, and he thinks about how it was wrong, wrong,  _ wrong.  _ Lucas only spoke  _ once _ . He knows Lucas isn’t the biggest for conversation, he knows, but he misses the sound of his voice. His misses Lucas when he’s free, when he’s not pretending for anyone, when he’s  _ himself _ . When Lucas is like that, he  _ shines _ , he can’t look away, he’s surprised anyone can. Eliott knows there’s a pull between them, something in the universe bringing them closer, and  _ closer.  _ He’s resenting anything and everything that gets in the way, more and more as time goes on. He wants him and Lucas and no one to bother them. He wants Lucas to  _ consume  _ him, and that makes him think of that one Woolf quote:

_ There was a star riding through clouds _

_ One night, and I said to the star, _

_ ‘Consume me’. _

Why is Lucas fighting it?

 

**VENDREDI 19:45**

 

“No, but this show is completely insane! I binge-watched it in one weekend!” Eliott comes back into the room and Chloé is talking,  _ still _ talking,  _ always _ talking. How can Lucas bear to put up with so much  _ noise _ ?

A weekend? How’s that possible?” Lucille responds, equally as enthusiastic about the conversation.  _ Go figure, _ he thinks, that their girlfriends would hit it off. He’s perpetually annoyed by one, frequently annoyed by the other, it makes sense. 

“What do you mean?” Chloe asks, and he wants to interrupt this conversation with something,  _ anything _ . He almost mouths  _ kill me now _ to Lucas, sat beside Chloé and across from him, but he doesn’t. 

The beer brings him close to it, though.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty much impossible.”  _ Impossible _ is one of Lucille’s favourite words.  _ It’s impossible to find work in literature,  _ or  _ it’s impossible to fit in when you transfer last term to a new school _ .

“I don’t know, you’re chilling at home, you take the weekend. Don’t you ever do that?” He knows what her answer will be before she even says it. Lucille is the sort of person that has her entire day, entire week, entire  _ life _ strictly scheduled, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her binge-watch anything, ever. She barely even watches movies, even that has to be negotiated.

“Well, no. I don’t know, I don’t have time, I—” 

“You don’t  _ have _ time or you don’t  _ make  _ time? Because it’s not the same thing at all. It’s really important to make time for yourself. I don’t know, for your own well-being. You have to do that!” Over the span of Chloé’s tirade, Lucas looks at him, he looks at Lucas, takes a swig of his beer, and he can feel Lucille’s eyes on him. This all happens in the span of a few seconds,  _ so much for his brain to process _ , and he isn’t sure why he’s so suddenly overwhelmed.

“That’s true, you’re right. You’re super mature for your age, girl.” There Lucille goes, laying the compliments on thick. That’s how she gets people to like her.

“Yeah, that’s because I’m dating an older guy.” The word  _ dating  _ makes Eliott feel sick. He’s never thought of Lucas and Chloé as  _ dating _ , and it makes him feel sick. Lucas looks at him, and he knows what his expression is like, but he can’t help it.  _ I wanted to spend time with you, just you,  _ he tries to say wordlessly. “Are you two the same age?”

“Mm, yeah. But Eliott failed his  _ bac  _ last year.” If Eliott had to guess what Lucille’s two favourite topics of conversation were, he would guess impossibilities and his failures at life— particularly his failure at the  _ bac. _

“Oh shit. By a lot?” There it is again, Chloé’s concern. It’s probably not as condescending as it sounds, but he hates it nonetheless. He glances at Lucille, a condensed version of asking her  _ why the fuck do you think that’s yours to bring up? _

“By nothing. I didn’t go.” He says, taking another swig of his beer, now pretty much empty.

“Oh.” Chloé says, stunned. At the very least, that seems to have shut her up. Finally.

“Can we talk about something else?” He says, looking to Lucille, and she has that look in her eyes as she takes a swig of her beer. A  _ we’re going to have a talk after these two leave _ sort of look. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care,  _ he doesn’t care. _

He goes to open another beer.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Eliott.” Lucille says, and it’s the wording that get to him. She sounds like a pissed off mother trying to— and  _ failing  _ to— control a child. The way she always seems to treat him, both in public and in private. She tries to be his caretaker, his regulator, and he  _ hates  _ it.

“And I think you’ve talked enough, Lucille.” He responds before taking a drink from his newly opened beer. It comes out a bit more biting than he had intended, but she’s really pissing him off. If he had had just a  _ little  _ more alcohol in him when Chloé was going on and on about unimportant things, he may have told her the exact same thing.

“I’m saying it for your own good.” The worst part is that she thinks she has his best intentions at heart, too. That he shouldn’t drink or smoke too much, because it interferes with his meds. He’s surprised she hasn’t brought that up yet.  _ It interferes with your meds,  _ he can almost hear her saying,  _ you know, the meds you take for you bipolar disorder? _

He’s thankful she doesn’t say that, at least.

“Yeah, it’s always for my own good, yeah. You think I need you?” He intended to finish that sentence with  _ to tell me that _ but he’s feeling mean. He’s feeling like he doesn’t want her around, and he knows that she doesn’t leave when he’s like this. She tries to get to the bottom of the  _ why _ and he hates it. When he wants to be left alone, why can’t he just be left alone? “And I may have failed the  _ bac  _ but I still know how to count, it’s my second one.” His impromptu plan proves successful when Lucille storms off, and he really can’t bring himself to look that upset. A moment later, Chloé follows, leaving him alone with Lucas. “Sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that.” And his apology is genuine. He doesn’t want to hurt Lucas, and he didn’t want things to go this way. “It’s just that… I didn’t think the night would go like this.”

“What were you expecting to happen?” This is perhaps the first time he’s heard Lucas speak tonight. He’s so  _ quiet _ when he’s with Chloé, and that’s not like him— from what Eliott knows, at least— at all.

“Well, I don’t know, what we’d planned, I guess.” They’re looking at each other, now. They’re no longer glancing here and there, but looking at each other steadily “I thought it’d be just the two of us.” And he lets the implications of everything  _ just the two of us  _ could mean hang heavy in the air. “Didn’t you?” Lucas looks down to the floor for a long while, before nodding, looking back up so their eyes can meet once again.

“I did.” Lucas says, and Eliott gets an idea. The girls are still quiet wherever they’ve ended up, and so he launches it into action.

“Come on, let’s bounce.”

“What,  _ now _ ?”

“Yeah, while they’re not here. Let’s get out of here.”  _ I want to spend time with you and only you,  _ he wants to say.  _ I want you all to myself. _

“And go where?” Eliott hadn’t thought of that, but he knows as soon as Lucas asks the question. He knows where to take him as a grand gesture, as an expression of  _ I care about you in a way that I’ve never cared about anyone before. _

“You’ll see.” Lucas smiles at him, then, and that’s all the acceptance he needs. He’s been  _ starving  _ for a happy Lucas, and he thinks tonight might get him one. He’s off before he knows it, padding quietly through the apartment toward the door, trying his best to move undetected. He turns as he pulls his shoes on to see Lucas following him, only a few steps behind, and he grins. He hands Lucas his coat before grabbing his own. They close the door quietly, go gently down the stairs, and then they’re off into the night.

 

**VENDREDI 20:27**

 

It’s only a short walk from his apartment to  _ la petite ceinture,  _ but he finds himself running to it. Running and laughing and looking back to Lucas as he follows closely behind. He feels happy, he feels free. It’s as if a switch has been flipped. At the apartment he felt like a caged animal, but now he feels  _ invincible _ . The street is quiet as they cross it, barely checking for cars, and Eliott’s already picking the lock when Lucas comes up beside him.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Lucas asks, his voice a whisper, looking around for anyone that might see them. His concern is adorable, Eliott decides.

“Opening it.” He responds, as if it’s the simplest answer in the world. “Come on!” He exclaims as he wrestles with the lock. He may do this frequently, but he’s by no means a master lock picker. Some being in the universe seems to be looking down on him, though, and the chain is unlocked a moment later. “Coming?” He asks, looking back to Lucas as the gate creaks open. Lucas stands there, contemplating, before following him with a laugh.

\---

“You didn’t know about  _ la petite ceinture _ ?” Eliott asks as they walk. He thinks of how similar this is to the other time they’ve walked somewhere together. This time feels… slower, somehow. There’s less tension, there’s nothing new to say, no surprises this time. This time they’re carrying flashlights— well,  _ he _ is, and Lucas is using the one on his phone.

“No.” Lucas says, looking around. “I have to say, it’s pretty nice.” Eliott thinks that’s an understatement. This is his safe haven, but Lucas doesn’t know that yet. They keep walking, slowly, with nowhere to be. Lucas looks at him, and he looks at Lucas right back. :ucas laughs again, and it’s music to his ears. He takes a few more steps before he realizes that Lucas has stopped, and is in the dark. “My battery’s dead.” He says simply.

“Well, come on, I’ll guide you.” He says, going back to where Lucas is stood.

“ _ You’re _ guiding  _ me _ ?” Lucas asks, skeptical, and he puts a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, pulling him forward gently. He wants to make a joking jab at him, to ask  _ what, do I not seem capable of guiding you? Is it weird? _

“Yeah, come on.” He lets his hand fall back to his side after a moment though, and they’re walking just as they were before, side by side.

“Do you come here often?” Lucas asks, and he wants to point out how that’s  _ the  _ cliche pick-up line, the one that all of the boys in the movies use on all of the girls, but he doesn’t. He wants, more than anything, to be completely honest with Lucas, to answer all of his questions, even the questions that he doesn’t want him to ask.

“Yeah, it’s my favourite place in the city. Do you hear how quiet it is?”  _ La petite ceinture _ is a place for thinking, to him. He comes whenever he needs to think, when he doesn’t want the constant blaring noise of the world around him. He feels like he’s in a bubble when he comes here, so that he can let his brain sort things out, so that he can write and draw and  _ be  _ without anyone interrupting him.

And when he’s at his lowest, he can simply  _ be _ , without having to worry about anyone  _ finding  _ him. 

He’s never wanted anyone to be able to find him before, this is where he comes to hide from  _ everyone. _

But he wants Lucas to be able to find him, he’s decided.

“Yeah.” Lucas breathes out, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing.

“It’s a shelter. It’s where I come when I want to be alone.” It’s hard to explain everything that  _ la petite ceinture  _ is to him. He found it years ago, and it’s been a haven for him ever since. He came here after he come out to his parents, he came here after he was diagnosed. This is the place that inspired  _ Polaris _ . He draws here, he writes here,  _ la petite ceinture _ is the most  _ him  _ that a location can be.

“So you bring people to the place where you like to be alone?” Lucas teases, and Eliott wants to immortalize the smile that’s on his face. The quiet, restrained Lucas from earlier is gone, and the teasing open one— the Lucas that he loves the most— has returned.

“No, but this is special. I don’t usually bring anyone.” He’s been alternating between looking ahead of them and looking over at Lucas, but he makes sure to look at him when he speaks. “You’re the first one.” He knows the weight that he wants that to carry, and he hopes it’s conveyed.  _ I’ve never brought anyone here before, I’ve never cared about anyone this much, I’ve never felt what I feel for you, ever. _

“Not even Lucille?” Lucas asks, surprised. His eyes are so earnest, it’s almost as if he’s preening under the affection of being special to him, and Eliott wants to grab him, to pull him close and show Lucas how special he is by never letting him go.

“The first one.” He repeats simply. They stop and look at each other for a moment, then. He isn’t sure in the low light, but he thinks that Lucas might be blushing. “This is it.” He says, shining the light at the bridge itself. He looks at Lucas and he looks… reluctant, his feet glued to the ground. Eliott walks a few steps ahead and then turns back to see Lucas taking careful, hesitant steps. “Come.” He says then, shining the flashlight up at his own face. “Come on!” Lucas’ steps are still just as slow, and he wants him to come _now,_ and so he comes up to Lucas and _pulls_ him under the bridge by his hand. “Come!” Then they’re running and laughing once more, and Eliott thinks he could live the rest of his life like this, running and laughing and _loving_ alongside Lucas forevermore. “Here, this is my place.” He says once they get under the bridge, shining the flashlight around to show Lucas the various bits of graffiti that have been left over the years, some of them his own doing, some not. “Do you like it?” He wants Lucas to like it, he wants Lucas to like everything about him. He knows that’s unrealistic, but everything about this moment seems unrealistic, as if it was pulled right out of his wildest dreams.

“Thanks for having me over.” Lucas jokes, and they both laugh. He’s walking around Lucas, still shining the flashlight around, as if Lucas is some sort of star. It makes him think of that Woolf quote for a completely different reason, because now he’s orbiting Lucas, a magnificent pulling force in the middle of his universe. He knows that some day he’ll be consumed, but this moment and nothing more would make it entirely worth it.

“No, really, do you like it?” He asks, before ducking in close, speaking softly right into Lucas’ ear, “Or are you scared?”

“Me? Scared?” Lucas questions, turning to face him, to follow him as he continues to move around. ”Not scared.”

“Not scared?” 

“Not scared.” Lucas affirms. Every time he gets out of Lucas’ field of vision, Lucas follows him. It’s intoxicating to be followed, Eliott decides.

“Not even a little bit? With a weird guy?” He can’t resist tossing a  _ chelou  _ joke in. It’s one of the most endearing things he remembers about their first meeting, and about his first impression of Lucas.

“A weird guy—” Lucas starts, but then Eliott is laughing as he shuts his flashlight off, leaving the both of them in near-pitch-black darkness. Lucas remains fun to tease, he’s pretty sure Lucas will  _ always  _ be fun to tease. “Eliott?” He hears Lucas say as he ducks beside him. He can easily navigate the bridge in the dark, but he wants to take advantage of the fact that Lucas can’t. “Where are you?” Lucas asks, and his voice is just scared enough that he turns the flashlight back on again, and he laughs at the way Lucas’ expression changes from stiff fear to affectionate annoyance as he sees him on the other side of the tunnel. “Honestly, it’s not funny at all.”

“Oh, yeah, still not scared?” He teases, and Lucas starts to come toward him.

“Still not.” Lucas claims, after a long moment of hesitation.

“And right now?” Eliott asks, and they’re quite close now, he realizes.

“Not scared either.” Lucas replies, and he realizes that he could reach out and pull Lucas again, but this time he could pull them together. He could turn the flashlight off and pull him in suddenly and kiss him in the darkness.

“Okay.” He decides on saying instead, “Well I won’t do it again anyway, because you do seem a  _ little  _ scared.”

“That’s nice.” Lucas says, and he’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before. He’s torn between wanting to to look at Lucas’ smile forever, and wanting to kiss it off his face. 

Instead, he turns the flashlight off again. 

“Fuck, Eliott, seriously.” He can tell Lucas is a  _ little  _ upset with him at this point. He knows Lucas is scared of the dark at this point. He knows his wants to kiss him right now more than he wants anything else in the world. “Okay, a  _ little  _ bit scared.” Lucas says, confirming his suspicions. He turns the flashlight on, standing right in front of him, and they’re so,  _ so _ close now. He takes another step closer, and he can’t decide whether to look into Lucas’ eyes or to look at his lips, so he alternates between the two. Lucas does the same, and it’s so much easier to tell with him, since he has to look down. He leans in, ready, readier than he’s ever been, and Lucas certainly isn’t pulling away. Eliott hears the distinct sound of raindrops hitting the ground, and he get a devilish idea. As enticing as Lucas is right now— his eyes closing, his lips parted, his head tilted back— the rain gives Eliott an idea to make their first kiss absolutely  _ perfect _ , like the ones in all of the rom-coms that he’ll never admit to anyone he actually enjoys watching.

Their lips are just about to brush when he turns the flashlight off a final time, and has to use all of the strength in his body to puss away from Lucas. He walks to the mouth of the tunnel and then keeps walking, just a few more steps. He feels the cool rain on his hot skin and he’s refreshed. 

“Eliott?” He hears Lucas say, and then he turns around, looking,  _ waiting _ . Thunder claps somewhere far off in the distance, and then, a moment after, Lucas sees him.

And a moment after that, Lucas follows. The younger boy looks up as the rain starts to fall against the top of his head, standing just past the mouth of the tunnel. The way Lucas is looking at him now sends a chill down his spine. It has all the strength of when he returned the scarf, when he spoke to Lucas when he was with Chloé, but with the warmth of the Lucas that he knows.

The Lucas that he loves.

“What, are you afraid of the rain too?” Eliott says, because he can’t resist teasing Lucas  _ just  _ a little bit more. He expects Lucas to respond, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at him, eyes shining, and Eliott feels naked under his gaze. Lucas looks down to the ground, thinking about something, and Eliott wishes once again that he could see inside his head. Lucas takes a deep breath, as if he’s come to a decision. He wants to know what Lucas is deliberating over.

A moment later, he finds out.

He finds out, and it steals all of the breath from his lungs.

Lucas is reaching out, and it can’t be coincidence. He remembers how he drew the first kiss between the two characters in  _ Polaris _ , and he remembers that he did it because he wanted it to be unique, easily identifiable.

And he recognizes it easily when Lucas replicates it.

He wants to ask  _ how  _ and  _ when _ and thousands of other questions. But instead he looks at Lucas, so vulnerable yet so open, and then takes Lucas’ hands, slotting their fingers together, before taking Lucas’ hands properly.

They stand like that for who knows how long. It feels like an hour and a second at the same time, and they’re searching each other, for any hesitance whatsoever, any sliver of doubt.

But there’s no doubt to be found.

And then Lucas is kissing him.

He thinks of all of the books he’s read, and he’s read quite a few. He’s read hundreds of first kisses, dozens that made his heart ache with longing, for a story like that. He thinks of how none of them do this kiss justice, none of those first kisses combined will ever begin to compare.

Lucas throws himself at him, and Eliott is there to catch him. They’re kissing and stars collide somewhere far off in space, he’s sure. Everything is warm, even the cool rain feels warm on his skin. He thinks of how he would have waited a lifetime for this, if it meant that Lucas would kiss him on his dying day.

He had felt pulled toward Lucas over the past couple of weeks, a light and stubborn thing. But now the pull he feels is like gravity, undefeatable and undeniable, a force that feels as natural as breathing. Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he’s been longing for for what feels like an eternity, he’s greedy for it.  _ More,  _ his mind chants.  _ More, closer, more.  _ He’s holding Lucas’ face before he even realizes what he’s doing. He needs to make sure that this is real, and not one of his many (many,  _ many _ ) Lucas-centric dreams. But the Lucas he feels now is different than all those who have come before. This Lucas is smooth and firm and  _ real _ . He knows it, he feels it deep in his bones. Lucas is holding his face too, now, and that’s all the affirmation he needs. That had never happened before, even in his wildest dreams. They pull apart but only for seconds at a time. Every time they do, Lucas is wide-eyed and smiling, before they come crashing against one another once more. Lucas gasps against him when they part again, and then next time they kiss, he slips his tongue into Lucas’ mouth. 

Their first kiss, he decides, has nothing on the kisses come after. He would have counted them but he’s  _ far  _ too focused on kissing the man of his dreams. The universe must have been looking down on baby Eliott when it decided to create Lucas, because the way their bodies fit together can’t possibly be a coincidence. Lucas kisses him and his stars align, Lucas holds him and everything in his life falls into place. Nothing else matters in this moment, it’s only him and Lucas and nothing else. He tries to tell Lucas everything he wants to say without words, without having to pull their lips apart.  _ You’re incredible,  _ he says by running his thumb along Lucas’ cheek.  _ I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,  _ he says by pulling Lucas even closer, though he didn’t think that possible. _ I haven’t felt anything like this, about anyone, ever,  _ he says by gasping into Lucas’ mouth when Lucas’ hands find his ass.  _ Kissing you is like travelling to another universe, _ he says by winding his arms around Lucas’ neck, for just a moment, before cradling his face again. They’re not only  _ in  _ their own universe, they’ve  _ created  _ one, a universe full of nothing but the two of them and their love. 

_ I love you,  _ he says with a kiss.  _ I love you more than anyone I have ever known,  _ he says with another.

Lucas shines so brilliantly in the low light, and he thinks that he would shine even in pitch black darkness. They breathe each other in, and he isn’t sure he even needs to pull away from Lucas, when he’s getting all of the breath and  _ life _ that he needs from the boy pushed flush against him. He’s pretty sure he could survive off of this forever— and even if he couldn’t, he doesn’t think there could possibly be a better death.

Lucas pulls away, then, and looks up. Not at him, but up to the sky, where the rain is now  _ pouring  _ down, drenching both of them. Lucas is grinning, and it looks like he’s thanking someone, something up there. The moon highlights the lines of his face and he’s breathtaking, effervescent, the single most beautiful thing that Eliott has ever seen. Then they’re looking at each other again, and Eliott is panting but he doesn’t care, everything in this moment is perfect, and he wants to live in it forever. Lucas shakes his head, minutely, subtly, and then they’re kissing again. He’s not sure he knows where his lips end and Lucas’ begin, they’ve both poured so much into this that they’re beginning to merge, he’s sure. They kiss and kiss, and then Lucas is looking up again. This time he does the same. He calls out in his mind to whatever is in charge of the universe, and he thanks it a million, million times. He has no idea what he did right to get a boy like Lucas here with him, but he’ll do no wrong for the rest of time if it means that they get to stay together.

Then Lucas leans into him, his head going for the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around Eliott’s back. Eliott holds Lucas firmly in place, holding his entire world in his arms, pressed against his rapidly beating heart as they hug, and the only sounds that can be heard are their panting breaths and the sound of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long-winded post-chapter notes:  
> \- ok but hear me out... bro-tp eliott/daphne  
> \- listen... i have no problems with chloé (at this point in the plot at least— i absolutely DO NOT condone outing people), she is perhaps the only innocent in all this (well... up until this point, at least) so it was a bit hard for me to write eliott being all pissed off. so i re-watched the beginning of episode five to help get me through it and wow [chef's kiss] poetic cinema  
> \- the first thing i do before i write the exposition for the chapters is go through during my first (re)watch of each ep and write down dialogue & any notes i have. my note for when chloé suggests the double date is, and i quote, "Eliott stares a BITCH down holy shit" so there's that  
> \- throughout the writing of this chapter I probably watched the kiss scene 100 times. No, i'm not joking. No, i do not regret it. No, i don't think i did it justice.  
> \- wow so glad that it's the first kiss and then them waking up next to each other and then living happily ever after with no sadness whatsoever!! can't wait to write nothing but good & happy elu for the remainder of this fic!! :))))  
> \- as of today (or yesterday, i suppose, because i'm planning on posting this at midnight) it has been exactly one month since i posted the prologue. i could not have dreamed of the support i would get, and i'm thankful every single day, for every kudos and comment that are left. you guys are truly the best. <3


	10. (rêveur)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lucas stays right where he’s stood, and Eliott takes off his damp clothes, leaving them in a pile just in front of him. When he looks back over to Lucas, he sees him staring at his chest, and he wiggles his hips a little bit. “Like what you see?” It’s meant to be joking, playful, but Lucas looks into his eyes and swallows, hard, before nodding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this is, comparatively, quite short, yes i know. unfortunately the universe has thrown me a wrench, so to speak, in the form of what i think is an upper respiratory infection. nothing life threatening at all, but i've been super miserable, and so congested that i can't think straight (insert gay joke?). if this chapter feels a bit weird, that's probably why (i'm planning on editing it properly later) so yeah, please bear with me as i get better!!  
> \- here's my attempt at writing a nervous lucas! he wants everything w eliott but he's inexperienced, be patient w him _s'il vous plaît._ they're gonna get down 'n dirty soon though, promise! (my plan is to have a little smth smth in the next chapter hehe)  
> \- working on something new... this won't interfere with this fic, though, and i'm hoping to have both works going at the same time! not sure when the first chapter of the new fic will be posted, but! stay tuned!!

They stand like that for what is probably far too long. He thinks that when they pull away the reverie will end, somehow. Something in his head is telling him that once they pull away, Lucas will turn and leave with a non-committal  _ see you at school,  _ or something like that. And it sounds crazy but it’s really not his fault he’s not thinking properly, he was just kissed to within an inch of his life. So there he stays with his arms wrapped around Lucas, trying and failing to shield him from the rain, for a few moments more. It feels mutual when they pull away from each other, but Eliott lets his hand linger, cupping Lucas’ cheek. He’s not sure whether he does it to convey a wordless  _ please stay with me, for now,  _ or because of how warm Lucas’ cheek is despite the cold rain, but it feels right, right now. It proves a rewarding action when Lucas leans into it gently, kissing his palm.

He really has no clue how he looks, right now. He’s been stood out in the rain for far too long now, and he’s cradling the cheek of the boy he loves, and said boy— who he loves, by the way— has just kissed his hand. He huffs out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and shakes his head in disbelief.  _ This can’t be happening, _ he thinks first; then,  _ what did I do to earn this? What have I done that was so right that the universe sent me him? _

_ What do I have to do to keep him by my side? _

“Lucas, I…” He breathes out, lost for words. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you.” Lucas says, quiet and bold and so  _ sure  _ that it makes Eliott dizzy.

“Yeah?” Part of him wishes he could speak in longer sentences, but his brain seems to have shut off, everything fading away except for a chorus of  _ Lucas, Lucas, Lucas _ .

“Yeah.” Lucas says, nodding. It looks like Lucas is going to add something on to that, but he doesn’t, smiling up at him silently, his breathing steady. Just then, a cool breeze blows by, sending a shiver up Eliott’s spine.  _ When did it get so cold? _ “Do you want to come to my place?” Lucas asks, and before he even has time to react— before he has time to process Lucas’ words and say  _ yes, please—  _ Lucas quickly adds on, “not like that— I didn’t mean— I just don’t want to be without you, right now.” 

“I don’t want to be without you, either.” He says, pulling Lucas down for a kiss to emphasize his point, to try and say  _ I never want to be without you, without this, ever. _

“We can just go back to my apartment and sleep—  _ sleep  _ sleep, together, if, ah, if that’s okay with you?” Lucas is bold and bashful at the same time, a boy full of opposites, and he really can’t get enough of it.

“Is it okay with your roommates?” He hopes it is, because now that he’s thought about seeing Lucas’ home he can’t stop thinking about it.  _ He’s seen my home,  _ he internally reasons,  _ it’s only fair. _

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Mika brings people home with him all the time.” Lucas gets the same look on his face before, as if he just said something that he shouldn’t have. “Well, I mean, I’m not— not like,  _ bringing you home _ , with me, though, nothing like that. I’m just… bringing you home. With me.” He can tell that Lucas’ mind has gone into overdrive, he seems to be thinking too much about everything that comes out of his mouth. Eliott doesn’t want that, though, he doesn’t want Lucas to have to think so much about what to say.

“Lucas, it’s okay.” He says, stroking his thumb over Lucas’ cheek. “Don’t worry so much. You can  _ bring me home _ any way you want.” If Lucas had flat-out told him that he wanted to go home and bang, he wouldn’t be against it. Lucas could suggest  _ anything  _ and he wouldn’t be against it. He wants so  _ much  _ when it comes to Lucas, but more than anything he wants Lucas to be comfortable. “Your pace, okay?”

Lucas huffs out a breath of relief, and then Eliott’s pulled into another hug.

“Thank you,” Lucas says, voice muffled as he nuzzles into Eliott’s chest. This hug is shorter, and they pull away after a moment.

“Shall we?” He says, and Lucas takes a few steps forward, and then stops. Eliott’s about to ask him what he’s doing when Lucas turns to face him and holds out his hand, hesitantly and expectantly, and it doesn’t take him long to understand. 

He takes Lucas’ hand, and lifts it up to press a feather-light kiss to his knuckles, before letting Lucas lead the way through the dimly lit streets of Paris.

  
  


\---

  
  


It’s hard for him to keep from kissing Lucas on the short bus ride. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he’s having trouble thinking about anything else. Lucas lets go of his hand and the bus pulls up, and he doesn’t take it again until they’re safely in his bedroom. Eliott almost asks him why, but he stops himself. If Lucas wants to tell him what he’s thinking, he will, and he doesn’t want to push. All of his thoughts are chased away not long after when Lucas is kissing him once again, and he hums involuntarily in surprise. He pulls away, then, laughing at Lucas’ confused face.

“As much as I love kissing you, we should probably get these clothes off before either of us catches a cold.”

“You trying to get me naked?” Lucas raises his eyebrows playfully, smirking over at him.

“More so trying to keep you from getting sick, so we can keep doing this,” He says, pressing another quick kiss to Lucas’ lips, because as much as he’s found that he enjoys kissing Lucas, he’d rather not get sick from it. But he’s also completely willing to play along with Lucas, “But I wouldn’t be against seeing you with less clothing on.” Now that they’re alone, the irrepressible urge to  _ explore  _ has come over him, to touch as much as he can. It’s not even inherently sexual, right now, he just wants to feel Lucas’ skin. “Do you have a dryer?”

“Mm, not a bad idea.” Lucas hums against him, pulling away after a moment. “It’s in a room out in the hall. I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to leave the room while you get changed?” 

“No, no, it’s okay, you can stay if you want to.” He almost says  _ I want you to stay _ , but he remembers to focus on what he told Lucas before,  _ his pace. _ Lucas stays right where he’s stood, and Eliott takes off his damp clothes, leaving them in a pile just in front of him. When he looks back over to Lucas, he sees him staring at his chest, and he wiggles his hips a little bit. “Like what you see?” It’s meant to be joking, playful, but Lucas looks into his eyes and he swallows, hard, before nodding. A beat later, Lucas takes his clothes off as well before standing up straight again, their eyes meeting. Eliott then lets his eyes roam. He looks at his broad shoulders, and the rest of his torso. He pauses when he gets to Lucas’ abs, strong muscle under soft skin, and he wants to touch, wants to touch so  _ badly _ , brush his fingers along the skin before moving lower, to the v of his hips, and lower still, until—

“Borrow some of my clothes, if you want.” Lucas says, pulling him out of his reverie, his voice thick and heavy, his pupils blown wide in the light of his lamp. Lucas sifts through the drawers of his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. “Shirts are second from the top, pants are at the bottom. You can borrow some underwear if you want, they might be a bit small, they’re at the top.” Lucas scoops up the pile of clothes, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Be back in a minute.” Then Eliott’s left alone, and he goes into Lucas’ drawers. He pulls out a t-shirt after a moment, a simple black one, and a pair of boxers. He slips them on, the boxers a bit snug on his hips, and then sits on the bed, unsure of what to do. He contemplates sprawling across it, trying his best to look as alluring as possible, but he abandons that thought quickly when Lucas returns.

“Sorry I took so long,” Lucas says, throwing himself onto the bed. 

“No worries. Now,” Eliott grins over at Lucas, “where were we?” Eliott asks jokingly, leaning in to lay down beside Lucas and press their lips together. It has the same energy as before with none of the urgency, none of the rushing. Their lips press together like the ebb and flow of the tide, and it’s not long before Eliott’s sighing contentedly in between kisses. His reaction is the same as before, though, every single nerve in his body coming alive, singing a chorus of  _ closer, more, closer.  _ They’re laying beside each other now, and Eliott cradles Lucas’ head as their mouths open just a bit wider, slipping his tongue into Lucas’ mouth. Lucas gasps softly at the intrusion and clutches at his shoulders, pulling him closer. 

“Eliott,” Lucas breathes as they pull apart.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, a bit out of breath, kissing along Lucas’ jawline. He knows what he wants, but he doesn’t want to cross any of Lucas’ boundaries— especially since he wants to do this again (and again, and again).

“This, just this,” Lucas says, drawing circles along Eliott’s back now, feather-light, before kissing him again. “I don’t know if I’m ready for, ah, getting off, or anything, but you can touch everywhere else.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay?” Lucas looks so  _ concerned _ , and his body screams  _ please like me, please like me _ . Eliott wonders how Lucas could possibly think that he doesn’t.

“More than,” He presses a kiss to Lucas’ collarbone. “Let me know if that changes, if you want more than this or less, no holds barred, it’s whatever you want, okay?”

“Mm.” Lucas hums in affirmation, and then their lips are pressed together again one, twice, thrice, before Eliott pulls away slowly again, looking over at Lucas. 

“And you can touch me too, anywhere you want.” To send his point home, he takes one of Lucas’ hands and puts it low on his own hip, and he almost gasps at the contact as he presses soft, wet kisses across Lucas’ cheeks before moving back down to his neck. “Feel good?” He asks, grazing his teeth along the base of Lucas’ neck.

“Yeah,  _ oh— _ ” He grazes across a certain spot, just above his clavicle, and Lucas gasps, soft and barely there. He files that away for future reference. “Yeah, really good.”

“I’m glad.” He says, and the sheer  _ thought _ of the fact that he’s making Lucas feel good is getting him hard already, and he knows that if it gets any worse he may have to excuse himself to the bathroom to deal with it before he and Lucas fall asleep.

“Eliott?” Lucas asks, and then he comes back up to press their lips together.

“Mm?” He hums against Lucas, pulling back to look at him.

“Thank you.” Lucas says, and there’s a thousand different things that he wants to say in response.  _ For what,  _ and  _ no, thank you, _ and  _ the pleasure is all mine, do you really not realize what you’re doing to me right now? _

“Lucas,” He decides on instead, laughing breathily, “you’re not the only who’s wanted this for a while now.”

“Really?” Lucas asks, and everything almost comes tumbling out,  _ I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you.  _

_ I was so worried about starting fresh and not knowing anyone and about everything everywhere but you make everything quiet, you let me think, I can breathe with you in a way that I can’t breathe with anyone else. _

_ I’ve never felt this way before. _

_ I care about you so much already that it scares me. _

“Coming home with a beautiful boy and making out in his bed? What’s  _ not  _ to want?” He says instead, because it’s  _ true _ , he couldn’t imagine a better Friday night. Lucas pulls back to look at him, then, his eyes wide.

“You think I’m beautiful?” Lucas says, so quietly it’s barely a whisper. He nods, brushing their lips together, feather-light. He cups Lucas’ cheek in his hand, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yes, I do.” 

_ You’re the single most breathtaking person I’ve ever met.  _

Lucas kisses him again and again and again. Every time that he reaches out, Lucas is there to meet him, and they stay like that, kissing and exploring for what seems like far too long and not nearly long enough. They slow down steadily before their eyes slip shut and their breathing steadies out, falling soundly asleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- please consider [these pics of maxence](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwedTmRH4AV/), i'm OBSESSED w the shirt, the moment, the boy, he is truly... The Softest  
> \- please ALSO consider [these pics of axel](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwhfnjXBhbK/)!! also truly The Softest.... i am In Love w both of em wow  
> \- u would not believe how many times i ALMOST wrote eliott saying "i love you" in this chapter, it was SO HARD to restrain myself, he's so _in love_ , HOW am i gonna restrain myself until the episode ten chapter??? tune in it's gonna be a ride


	11. (aggravé)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is that dude from your class here?”_
> 
> _“Who?”_
> 
> _“Eliott— because I have to give something back to him.”_
> 
> _“No, he’s not. He hasn’t been attending much recently.”_
> 
> _“Really?”_
> 
> _“The other day he snapped in class, and since then, well… He hasn’t shown up much.”_
> 
> — (mardi 12:02, episode 5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back @ it again with a (VERY UNEXPECTED) bonus chapter!
> 
> fair warning: the angst jumped out (but not elu-related angst, if that's a selling point..?)
> 
> i was going through episode five to write down dialogue, and come across the exchange between alex and lucas, that i made the summary of the chapter. i didn't even remember it from my first time watching, but it seems significant despite how brief of a scene it is. since alex says "the other day" i'm assuming he means some time during the previous week. in any case— as with the other bonus chapters— there's no set time for this chapter, so put it at whatever point you like in the timeline of the season.
> 
> **content warning for some mild dissociation and description of a panic attack.** mostly just talking about the former, nothing too crazy, and the latter isn't super graphic— but if that's something you can't/don't want to read, i understand completely.
> 
> let me know about any typos, comments and kudos are much appreciated, and thank you so much for reading. <3

Eliott blinks open, and he can already feel a prickly thrum underneath his skin.

He hasn’t had a day like this in a while. The past few months have been so good, he thought he was doing well, he thought his fresh start would fix things. The optimist in him had thought that days like these would cease to exist once he started at the new  _ lycée _ , that he would never have to tell anyone else about his bipolar disorder ever again, that everything would be fine. That he would be  _ normal. _

The realist in him, though, knew that would never be the case.

This feeling in itself isn’t inherently manic—  _ hypomanic _ , his psychiatrist’s voice corrects him, even in his own head— the irritability, the buzzing from somewhere just below his surface. In his experience, though, a day like this is a precursor to it, and that almost makes it worse. It’s worse because he knows it’s coming, can see it on the horizon, and he can’t do anything to stop it. He prefers it when he can’t see it coming, when he just suddenly feels truly and thoroughly  _ good, _ before he realizes what’s happening. 

The time before the realization is the best, because afterward comes the mixed mania.

And after the mixed mania comes the crash.

This time, though, he’s conscious of it right from the beginning. Objectively, he knows he should be thankful, for the awareness. When he’s not aware, it takes him longer to stop; when he’s not aware, he  _ hurts  _ people with his mania, more so than when he’s aware of himself. But when he’s aware, when he  _ knows  _ he’s manic or hypomanic or  _ whatever _ , it’s like he goes outside of himself. It’s like his consciousness is strapped down and forced to watch as his body does things, harmful things, to himself and to people that he cares about. Things that he can’t do anything about, that he can only watch happen, and beg forgiveness for afterward.

He hates it, he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy— which, on days like these, just so happens to be himself.

He contemplates staying in bed. He weighs it in his head again, and again, and again. But not living his life— not even  _ trying  _ to— as close to normal as possible would be losing the battle. And he can’t do that, especially not so early on.

So he gets dressed. He gets out of bed and goes to his closet even though his arms and legs feel like they have fireworks inside of them, nearly to the point of pain. He wants to smoke, to dull his senses, to dull the stinging of the nerves in his limbs. He zones out, too, only a little bit, but it’s enough to make him late enough to miss the early bus. He knows it’s no big deal, that he takes the early bus so that, even if he misses it and has to take the next one, he’ll be able to get there on time. But his brain tells him that it’s the first in a string of mistakes that he’ll make today, that the only thing he does is make mistakes.

Instead of taking the time he now has before the next bus comes to make himself lunch, or even to eat breakfast, he paces, back and forth, back and forth. 

He can’t  _ not  _ move right now. 

Back and forth.

If he had gotten the early bus, he would be at school by now.

Back and forth.

What if he’s late?

Back and forth.

They’re working on that big project today, the one that’s worth 20% of their grade.

Back and forth.

And he’s in a group with three girls that he doesn’t particularly know, and doesn’t particularly like.

Back and forth.

He doesn’t want to work with them, they’re far too distracted and loud.

Back and forth.

He doesn’t want to work with anyone right now.

Back and forth.

But he has to. He has to, he has to,  _ he has to— _

Back and forth.

He can’t fail this project, or this class.

Back and forth.

He can’t fail  _ again. _

Back and forth.

He can’t, he can’t he can’t  _ he can’t. _

Back and—  _ fuck _ .

He checks his phone and realizes that he’s been pacing for nearly fifteen minutes. He’s almost made himself late for the  _ late  _ bus, the one that he can’t miss if he wants to get there on time. He grabs his bag, slips on his shoes, and he’s out the door in a short moment, not even bothering to make sure the door had locked.

 

\---

 

Between the bus stop and the  _ lycée,  _ the bus stops at a station. Normally only for a minute or two, sometimes the driver hops off to grab a drink or to use the bathroom inside the terminal.

This time, though, the driver is sat in their seat, reading the newspaper, and Eliott is  _ fuming. _ He’s running late, he needs to go, and he  _ knows  _ the driver doesn’t know that. He knows that the bus will pull away from the station in mere moments, that the bus might be ahead of its schedule, but the fact that the driver is just  _ sitting there _ makes anger bubble up in his chest. He hates it, but more than anything he hates that he can’t control it. 

The words creep up his throat like vomit, coming closer and closer, something akin to  _ can we fucking go, please  _ or  _ what the fuck are you doing just sitting there _ , but as he takes a breath to speak up, the bus’ doors close and it pulls away from the curb. Eliott spends the rest of the ride seething, not at the driver but at himself.

 

\---

 

He slips into the classroom with a few minutes to spare, and he’s already miserable. Everyone’s talking and the room is loud, loud,  _ loud.  _ Every sound is an insect crawling across his skin, making him itch, pestering him. Even when the teacher claps her hands together the whispers continue, and if anything, the whispering is  _ worse  _ than the talking.  _ It’s about you,  _ his brain tells him,  _ they’re talking about you, they know everything _ . He realizes that he’s zoned out again when his group members are suddenly sat around him, chatting as they usually do.

“— well,  _ yeah _ , but he texted me and said that he needed a break, and last time I checked, a break doesn’t involve sleeping with my cousin, so—” he catches bits and pieces of the conversation, but the fact that he’s not entirely present right now and also wilfully ignoring their idle chatter means that he doesn’t get a whole lot of context. They’ve been working on this project for a few weeks now, and his group has gotten next to nowhere. The due date is looming, and it needs to be done if they want to get a decent grade.

In one moment the world is foggy and distant, and then in the next it’s in oversaturated close-up colour. It hits him like a slap to the face, and he only realizes he hadn’t been feeling the itch underneath his skin until he’s feeling it  _ again _ , as if it never left.

“Guys,” he says, in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like his own, “Can we get some work done,  _ please. _ ” He wills his voice  _ not  _ to sound desperate, pleading, angry. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Yeah guys, we only have a few weeks.” One of the girls indulges him, but it makes him feel sick.  _ She’s pitying you _ , his brain tells him, and it only makes things worse. “Group projects are better if they’re split into parts, so maybe we can assign everyone a part to do, and then put them together into a cohesive unit once we’re finished…?” The girl looks at him and he nods, trying and failing to get rid of the scowl etched onto his face. The others smile and nod, as close to ignorance as possible without actively ignoring them. After a few moments more they’re back to chatting, and the girl that had actually  _ tried  _ to get things organized smiles at him sympathetically. He doesn’t want sympathy, he doesn’t want all this  _ noise _ , it’s too much, too much,  _ too much— _

“ _ Listen _ ,” he says, his tone biting, to the girls, demanding their attention, “We need to get this done. If you want to actually put work in and  _ not _ get a failing mark, great, that’s awesome. If not, though, you can take the zero. Up to you.” He hates how his voice sounds when he’s like this. He hates his words and how sharply they come out, but he’s losing his grip right now, and he can’t help it as his control slips,

“Dude, it’s not that big of a deal.” One says dismissively.

And slips,

“Yeah, it’s only 20%, don’t worry about it.” The other says in the same tone, he can’t take it anymore—

And slips.

“Some of us can’t  _ fucking  _ afford not to worry about it!” He shouts—  _ why are you shouting,  _ he asks himself— and the entire class goes completely quiet. 

The whispers are worse than the talking.

But the silence is the worst of all.

“Eliott,” his teacher chides, “language, no words like that in my class.” He looks around and sees everyone still staring at him and it’s suffocating.  _ Look away _ , he pleads soundlessly,  _ stop staring, stop staring, stop staring.  _ He’s a caged animal, now, a zoo exhibit. Everyone looking at him and he’s helpless but to let them stare. Whispers start up and this time he  _ knows  _ they’re about him, he knows that they’re talking about what a freak he is, about the fact that he just snapped in the middle of literature class. He forgets how to breathe, and everything is caught in his throat, now. Words, breath, bile— all of it. He tries to make a noise of any kind but it doesn’t come, tries to do  _ anything  _ but it doesn’t come. He stares at his teacher for a moment, eyes wide, silently pleading  _ help me.  _

But she stands there staring, with everyone else.

And he can’t take it anymore. 

When his brain finally decides to grant him use of his legs again— it feels like it’s been  _ hours _ stood in front of his class— he turns and  _ runs. _

He doesn’t stop moving until he’s gotten back home. He runs because he has to, because he  _ needs  _ to keep running and to get home and as far away as possible. It’s a good couple of kilometres from the school to his apartment but he doesn’t stop, not even when he passes busses that he could very well hop onto. He’s gasping for breath by the time he gets up the stairs and through the door. He closes it, and then slides down it, crumpling in on himself. He takes gulping breaths, gasping for air that he can’t seem to get enough of. He only realizes that he’s crying when hot tears drip down his cheeks. He doesn’t have nearly enough agency right now to stop it, and he’s sobbing all of a sudden. He’s curled up in a ball crying and hyperventilating like some sort of fucking  _ child _ and he can’t stop. He snapped at people because he can’t fucking control himself.  _ Stupid,  _ his brain spits at him.  _ Stupid, pathetic, crazy.  _ He needs it to stop, he’ll do anything for it to stop, the thoughts, the hiccuping breaths, the anger, the lack of control—  _ everything.  _

_ Insane, you’re insane. _

He hugs his knees to his chest and pushes his face into his kneecaps until his vision swims with blurry shapes.

_ Shut up, shut up, shut up— _

Then, finally—  _ finally _ — everything goes blissfully quiet. His heavy breathing, his terrible thoughts, all of it fades into a brilliant blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't intend for this chapter to be fully eliott, but i'm content with how it turned out. lucas has scenes in the show where it's completely and utterly _him_ , no eliott whatsoever, so i wanted to give eliott the same treatment. as in love as he is, he needs plot development of his own, you know?
> 
> i figured this would be both an interesting scene to explore/speculate about, and also a good opportunity to write a hypo-manic eliott— on edge and easily irritated before full-on mania sets in— before his mania peaks?— in a few weeks' time. as per usual, there's a decent amount of projecting in this chapter, as i'm no stranger to this feeling— irritability for no good reason, so strong it crawls under your skin. it's dreadful, 0/10 would not recommend.
> 
> this fic is turning into an absolute beast with all of these bonus chapters! maybe it's my subconscious procrastinating having to write the hell-week chapter(s)? only time will tell, i suppose!
> 
> also, side-note for those who may have been interested from the last chapter: the other fic that i'm working on is coming along slowly but surely! it's a lot less canon-compliant, though, so i have to do a lot more plotting for that than this one. stay tuned, it'll be posted eventually!


	12. 05— Au même moment à l'autre bout de l'univers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That’s cool, I’m happy for you._   
>  _Sorry, I can’t tomorrow._   
>  _Actually I think I need some time._   
>  _It’s not your fault, but… maybe it’s going a little too fast for me._   
>  _Forgive me._   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE ABOUT THE NEW CHAPTER:** hello pals! just letting everyone know that the new chapter (posted may 23rd), is not this one, but chapter 3!! i've been doing some organizational fiddling with how i want to structure this fic moving on. if you're looking for the new chapter, go to chapter 3!!
> 
> \---
> 
> hello all! i know i don't _owe_ you an explanation, but i want to give you one. i've been struggling with a bit of writer's block as of late, and that's shown in my writing— or rather, lack of— of this fic. that being said, this doesn't mean i'm stopping, it doesn't mean i'm less dedicated— i just needed to take some time to get myself back into writing. thank you all for your gentle encouragement, and for your patience with me. i know i never promised a regular updating schedule, but i feel a bit bad about going from new chapters every day to almost a month of radio silence. i will _never_ abandon this fic, even if i'm writing it til the day i'm on my death bed.
> 
> also, quick reminder [that i'm on tumblr!! send me suggestions/ideas for this fic, prompts if there's anything you'd like to see me write, or if you'd like to send some kind words to me on a platform other than AO3!! <3](https://www.paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/)
> 
> you know the drill, kudos and comments are _much_ appreciated (i love hearing what you guys think!), and let me know about any typos.
> 
> thank you again for being patient with me. your support means more than words can describe.<3

**AVANT SAMEDI 09:17**

Eliott comes into consciousness slowly, and at first he’s not sure where he is. The light filters through the curtains in a way that he doesn’t quite recognize, the walls a foreign colour. Everything is quiet, but in a pointedly different way to his apartment. Also, perhaps most confusingly of all, his face is half-pressed into a back that is _certainly_ not Lucille’s.

He takes a couple of deep, slow breaths to steady himself. When he does, everything comes back to him all at once, and it hits him for the first time that last night wasn’t a dream. He nuzzles into the dark fabric of Lucas’ t-shirt, warm and soft, and he inhales Lucas’ scent for the first time. He quickly realizes that was a mistake, because now he needs _more_ . He buries his face in between Lucas’ shoulder blades, matching his breathing with the pace of Lucas’, still slow and steady with sleep. He has to dip his head down a bit, but _god,_ the soft ache in his neck is worth it. His hand curls instinctively, and only then does he realize that it’s thrown around Lucas’ waist. He starts to draw circles on the line of Lucas’ hip with his finger, and he thinks that—  if heaven does exist— it looks and feels something like this.

Moments pass, he doesn’t know how many, exactly, and then he presses a kiss to Lucas’ back, right where his face had been. A single finger has now become his whole hand, grazing feather-light around Lucas’ torso. One kiss turns into many, and before he knows it, Lucas is stirring, waking up with a soft groan. Eliott pulls away slightly, giving Lucas the space that he needs, and Lucas looks over at him as he rolls over onto his back.

“Eliott?” Lucas says, his voice rasping delightfully. His eyes are wide, and he sighs as he stares up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “I... thought I had dreamt you, to be honest.” They’re looking at each other again, then, and Eliott doesn’t know how to respond.

“I’m here.” He says after a beat of comfortable silence, “I’m real, and I’m here.” He realizes that, if he listens closely, he can faintly hear the traffic outside. Lucas is looking and looking and _looking_ at him, and then he tilts his head back, just a bit, his lips parting and his eyes darting down to Eliott’s lips.

He didn’t know it was possible for anything to look so alluring.

 

\---

 

**SAMEDI 09:17**

Lucas kisses him like he’s starving for it, and Eliott can’t get enough. There is only them in the universe once more, the world could be ending around them and he wouldn’t care in the slightest.

He knows he has no reason to be nervous— _he knows—_ but that doesn’t stop his touches from being a bit hesitant, his hand anchored onto Lucas’ chest. Lucas takes that hand and he _pulls_ it up so it rests against his neck, his breath shaking momentarily. It’s almost as if Lucas is in his head, because that makes him bold enough to cradle Lucas’ face, his thumb stroking his cheek. Lucas does the same to him, almost simultaneously, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this safe. He’s waiting, almost, for the moment that he’s satisfied, that he feels ready to pull away and to look at Lucas, but the moment never comes. Whenever they pull apart to breathe, his brain is overtaken completely by a chorus of _more, more, Lucas, more, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas._ He sighs into Lucas’ mouth when Lucas slips his tongue in. If had to choose a single moment to freeze himself in, a moment that he could stay in forever, he would choose this one a million times over. Lucas’ hand is on the back of his head, now, and he pulls him closer, when he didn’t think it possible. Lucas’ hand roam along his back and his face unabashedly, and it’s reassuring. He feels comfortable. He feels _wanted_ , in a way that he hasn’t before.

He rolls them, and pushes Lucas gently into the mattress. Now that he’s gotten his hand on Lucas’ face he doesn’t think he ever wants to let go, he thinks his hands were made to hold Lucas. In one moment he’s nearly on top of him, and in the next he’s fallen back, so that they’re laying across from each other once again. And they’re kissing and kissing and then Lucas is pulling away, only a few centimetres.

He wishes that he could find something to say to Lucas, but his brain has gone blissfully quiet. Lucas looks at him like he’s precious, like he’s something to be treasured, and he thinks that this is what love is _supposed_ to feel like, what love _actually_ feels like.

He’s scared of voicing that aloud, though, so he settles for rubbing their noses together, matching the pace of the thumb he’s running along Lucas’ cheek still. He can see the grin spreading across Lucas’ face in his periphery, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to take his eyes off of Lucas’, even if he wanted to.

And he never wants to, until his dying breath.

He’s a bit surprised when Lucas presses a single, quick kiss to the tip of his nose. He laughs because every moment that passes feels more and more perfect, because he’s never been this content. Because the boy that he loves cares about him and just might— _might—_ love him back.

They lay together for a while, curled up in each other, legs tangled together. He fades in and out of sleep a couple of times, serenely calm, their breathing matched. When he wakes this time, though, he wakes with a question.

“Am I your first?” He asks, quiet and unsure. He doesn’t ask it out of jealousy or malice, solely out of curiosity. He isn’t completely sure if Lucas is even awake, his eyes closed, his breathing even.

“My first what?” Lucas asks, and to be honest, he isn’t quite sure. Part of him hadn’t expected Lucas to reply, that he was asleep.

“Your first guy,” is what he decides on, stroking careful fingers along Lucas’ cheek. Lucas’ eyes are open now and he’s silent, pursing his lips a bit. He huffs out a laugh, and that’s all the answer Eliott needs. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.” Lucas laughs again, and he’s rubbing their noses together again, because he’s been thinking of it since the last time he did it, only a short while ago.

“What about you?” Lucas asks, and he has to think quickly. He doesn’t want to say yes, he doesn’t want to tell him that he’s had crushes on and fooled around with boys before, because they all feel so insignificant, now. Everything pales in comparison to everything that he’s feeling right here, in this moment. The couple of relationships he’s had, the relationship he’s _in, right now,_ seems like nothing, and he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. So instead he settles for flicking his eyes up to Lucas’, he raises his eyebrows in response. Lucas scoffs, laughing again. “Ah, okay,” he says, and this time Eliott’s laughing, too. He feels like he’s drunk without any of the weight of it, and he decides that he _needs_ to kiss Lucas again, and again, and _again_.

So he does.

And Lucas makes him bold, so he reaches around Lucas’ hip and pulls him closer, pressing himself up against Lucas’ side. He kisses up Lucas’ neck, and the breathy noises that he makes will be burned into Eliott’s memory for the rest of time.

“A-ah,” Lucas _whimpers_ , and it drives him wild. He grazes his teeth against the warm skin, Lucas’ pulse fluttering away, and the breathy ‘ _ohh’_ that Lucas lets out could sustain him forever, he thinks, without food or water. He could live a happy life with this and only this.

Lucas sits up, keeping his eyes on Eliott the whole time. Eliott’s breath catches in his throat when Lucas pulls his shirt over his head, and he gets to look at his bare skin once again. He sighs out in awe, because he still can’t believe it. That he gets to do _this_ , with someone like Lucas, some sort of priceless reward, though he doesn’t know what for.

“You, too.” Lucas says, looking at him like _that_ again, his eyes hooded and his chin tilted back, and how can he resist _anything_ that comes from a boy like him?

His shirt is off in a moment, and they come back together in another. They kiss, and they touch, over and over, laughing and gasping as the room brightens from the rising sun.

This time Lucas is the one that asks a questions first, breaking their silence.

“What did you think, the first time you saw me in the _foyer_?” Lucas whispers, his lips brushing against his right ear, and it sends a shiver throughout his entire body. That’s never happened before, he didn’t know that he was capable of such a reaction to a whisper, but if it’s with Lucas, then he most certainly wants to explore it more.

If it’s with Lucas, he wants to explore _everything_ more, and he doesn’t think that desire will ever go away.

“I thought, ‘oh, this one, I’m sure he’s afraid of the dark.’” He teases, because Lucas hasn’t given him a chance to tease him in what feels like forever, and teasing Lucas _might_ just be his favourite thing to do with him— well, other than kiss, and touch… He has a list of his favourite things to do to Lucas, and teasing him is certainly on that list, somewhere.

“Fuck, I’m not afraid of the dark!” Lucas says, hovering above him now, his hair golden where the sun hits it. The skin of Lucas’ shoulder is soft and warm where his hands graze gently. “How would you have reacted, with a weird guy in a tunnel without light?” Lucas asks, and his hand is playing with Eliott’s hair, a feeling that he could really get used to. Lucas is laughing and joking around, but he wants to be honest with him, as much as he can right now, as much as his brain will let him.

“The first time I saw you wasn’t in the _foyer_ ,” Lucas raises one of his eyebrows, attentive. “It was in the hall, on my first day.” He thinks back to that day, to how he felt. He thinks of all of the noise in his head, all of the worries, and how Lucas got rid of them in an instant, without even realizing it. “I didn’t know anyone, and you were there with your friends,” _You were laughing and vibrant,_ he wants to say. _You were beautiful._ “You didn’t see me.. But I saw you.” _The entire universe narrowed down to the two of us._ “I only saw you, actually.” _This moment is more than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams._

“What would you have done, if I hadn’t come into the _foyer_ ?” Lucas asks, laying on his stomach, whispered words as he tilts his head back slightly, so that Eliott can hear him better, his head pressed against Lucas’ back as they lay there, drawing lazy circles around his shoulder blade. He thinks about it, and he realizes that he doesn’t know. Lucas is already so essential that he can’t imagine an existence without it. “Or like… If I’d taken the bus right before, or right after?” He wonders what Lucas’ face looks like, right now, and he contemplates pulling away to try try and get a look. He wants to know how Lucas’ brain works, why he’s thinking about such things in a moment like this. “Maybe we never would’ve met?” He doesn’t even want to _think_ about a world where he and Lucas don’t know each other, where they’ve never experienced anything like this together.

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit scary.” It’s his worst nightmare, if he’s honest. He curls into Lucas, just a bit more than he is already, inhaling the faint scent of Lucas’ warm skin. He brings his hand down to Lucas’ waist, and pulls him closer gently.

“Well, it happened in the end, so…” He can almost _hear_ the smile in Lucas’ voice, and he smiles himself.

“You know, when I have a choice to make, I always picture two paths,” or three, or four, or however many choices he’s presented with. “I end up picking one of them, because I have to make a decision at some point. But I’ll never know what I missed by not taking the other one.” His life has probably had millions of possibilities, millions of variables because of the choices that he’s had to make, and he can’t help but wonder how his life would be different— _better—_ if he had made different choices. “It drives me insane.” It keeps him up at night when his brain won’t let him sleep. It’s not a very frequent thing, but he’s spent entire nights thinking and thinking and _thinking,_ and regret about past choices is just one of the many things that his brain forces him to fret about in the wee hours of the morning.

“And right now, don’t you feel like you took the right path?” He can hear the doubt in Lucas’ voice, and the words to comfort him come without thought, without pause.

“I do, of course I do.” He responds, pressing another kiss between Lucas’ shoulder blades for good measure.

“When I make a choice, I tell myself there are other Lucases, in other parallel universes who took the other path.” Lucas says, and he props himself up onto his hands to listen to him speak, intrigued. “That way, between all the Lucases in all the universes, we’ve tried everything.” He tries to think of a such a thing, and he can’t, not quite. He supposes that the whole idea of multiple universes means that one can’t quite be imagined in the other. He wonders how Lucas has come to such a conclusion, and why. He wants to ask him a million questions, so that he might have a chance of knowing his brain. He wants to know this beautiful boy and his beautiful mind, inside and out.

“What are they doing now,” He starts with, “The other Lucases?” He scrapes a finger along the curve of Lucas’ shoulder, almost reaching his body up to kiss him when Lucas looks back at him, slightly, briefly.

“Right now?” Lucas asks, and he only hums in response. “Well, there’s a very ripped Lucas…” And he can’t help but laugh at the way Lucas pauses, coming up with the details as he goes. “Surfing on a huge wave in Bali.” He likes the picture that Lucas provides him with. He pictures an older, more muscular Lucas, doing the sorts of tricks that he’s only ever seen in movies. He pictures this Lucas winning some big competition, coming back to shore once everything’s over. He pictures an alternate universe version of himself, waiting for alternate-universe Lucas, throwing his arms around him once they get close enough, kissing him in front of everyone. He thinks of a universe where he doesn’t have to worry about Lucille, about being bipolar, about anything but himself and the boy that he loves.

He laughs again, a breathy giggle, wanting Lucas to keep going. “Okay.”

“There’s another one, ah... in a skyscraper in New York.” He thinks of this Lucas, too. In a suit that costs more than most people make in a month, checking his watch with one hand and holding a briefcase with another. “He’s signing a huge deal worth, like… Millions of euros,” This Lucas is persuasive, professional. He can picture his Lucas like this, he thinks, as he thinks of his face— the sort of face that no one could _possibly_ say no to. “With very angry Russians.” He sees a lot of aggravated pointing, now. Hears people talking to this alternate-universe Lucas in what he thinks sounds like Russian, but in reality is probably incoherent gibberish. He has a thought, then, one that he doesn’t like. He thinks of this alternate-universe Lucas, up far higher than he should be, thinks of him jumping and then falling, falling, _falling—_

“What makes you say that your businessman-Lucas didn’t climb up the tower to jump?” He asks then, because he thinks that the image may leave his head if he vocalizes it. “After, like, a big burn-out.” He’s not sure what he regrets more, now— the fact that he’s given Lucas that image, or the fact that Lucas now knows that he was thinking such a thing.

“That’s awful.” Lucas says, but he’s laughing when he says it, and so Eliott can’t help but laugh too. “You’ve never thought about it?” Lucas asks, and he has to think for a moment about what he means. Whether he’s talking about alternate universes and if there’s really any at all, or if he means jumping from high places like the businessman-Lucas in his brain did.

Because one he hasn’t really thought about.

The other, though, he thinks about far too much for his own liking.

“I don’t really believe in it, to be honest.” He’s going to assume that Lucas was talking about the former, and let himself be corrected if need be. He turns his head inward and runs his nose along the smooth skin of Lucas’ upper back.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Lucas says, his voice low, as if he’s stating some sort of objective fact. “Because there are plenty of other Lucases and Eliotts in other parallel universes who are together, right now.” He thinks of that, then. He thinks of dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of iterations of himself and Lucas, from vastly different situations to rooms with differently coloured curtains that are otherwise identical to the one they’re in right now. He thinks of Lucases and Eliotts that have known each other their entire lives, Lucases and Eliotts that have just met for the first time, Lucases and Eliotts that won’t meet one another for a long time— but will, eventually.

They always will.

Eliott’s torn out of his thoughts when he hears his phone buzz. He gets up to look at it immediately, and he knows who the messages are from before he moves.

 

**Lucille:**

What the fuck was that, last night?

 

**Lucille:**

First we fight and then you fuck off to who knows where, do you even care about me?

 

**Lucille:**

Meet me at the café by your place after I’m done class, we need to talk about this.

You can’t just run off whenever the fuck you want.

 

“Is that Lucille?” Lucas asks, and he hates that he knows. He hates the situation that he’s in, that _both_ of them are in. He wants to be with Lucas, and he wants Lucille to stop getting in the way.

But the only way for that to happen is if he does something, if he takes action and tells her the truth, which he’s scared of.

For now though, he has this moment. And he’s not ready for it to end quite yet.

“Fuck, I’m so dead.” He groans, a bit overdramatically, and then lays on Lucas’ back once more, right where he had been before. “You know what? Eliott number 452 can go talk to her, hm?” He wishes that were the case, that that sort of thing were possible. “I’m staying here.” He presses a kiss in between Lucas’ collarbones— his new favourite spot, he thinks— and nuzzles into Lucas’ back, letting his breathing even out once again.

“Yeah?” Lucas asks, whispering, and Eliott hums in response. “Well, Lucas number one is very, _very_ happy with that decision.” He can’t help but laugh at that, picking his head up to look at Lucas. The other boy’s face is turned to the side, the right half pressed into the pillow, but he can see a smile peeking into his field of vision. He nuzzles in again, letting his eyes slip shut, and they fall gently asleep.

 

\---

 

They stay there with their limbs tangled, breathing together as they fade in and out of sleep. When Eliott wakes, he wakes with the urge to kiss, and so he does. The urge doesn’t go away, though, it only intensifies, and he quickly lets himself get lost in it, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss to Lucas’ back, down every notch of his spine. He runs hesitant fingers down the small of Lucas’ back, his mouth following shortly after. When he presses a kiss to where Lucas’ back meets his ass, Lucas stirs with a groan.

“Sorry,” he apologizes out of instinct, fearing that he did something that Lucas may have not been comfortable with. But when he comes back up, looking at Lucas, there’s a glint in the other boy’s eye. There are words in Lucas’ head, he can tell, but he seems unsure about how to articulate them.

“No, it’s okay, I…” Lucas’ brows furrow, and Eliott can just see his eyes darting off to the side. “I liked it. Keep going?” He isn’t quite sure what Lucas means, at first. There are a million meanings to _keep going,_ does Lucas want him to keep kissing? Does he want him to kiss lower and lower, does he want him to use his mouth elsewhere?

“ _Keep going_?” He asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I think I changed my mind.” Lucas says, and he pulls back instinctively. “— No, not like that!” Lucas cries, grabbing his hand and putting it back where it was before. “Not less, ah… _more._ ” Lucas’ hand is still covering his, and he brings both of their hands down to his ass, his breath catching when Eliott squeezes lightly. “You can… with your hands. I want you to.”

“Are you sure?” Eliott asks, and then Lucas is flipping himself over. Once he’s done that, he takes Eliott’s hand, hesitant, and brings it to his crotch.

“Does _this_ feel sure?” Lucas asks, his voice catching ever so slightly when Eliott’s fingers twitch involuntarily, and the half-hard member under his fingers certainly _feels_ sure, in Lucas’ defense. The shaky breath that Lucas lets out afterward, combined with the way his eyes are hooded, his mouth slightly agape, is the single hottest thing he has ever seen in his life. He can’t help but breathe out a strangled _putain,_ barely audible.

“Tell me if you change your mind,” He says, still unsure. “At any time, okay?” Lucas nods in response. He wonders, for a moment, about what changed between last night and this morning. He doesn’t have much time for that, though, because Lucas breathes out a strangled _please,_ and his hand is moving before he knows it.

He’s never heard someone being so vocal from some light palming, but he’s by no means complaining. It’s not even that Lucas is loud, he doubts anyone outside of his bedroom would be able to hear, especially with the door closed. It’s the _frequency_ , a new noise coming from Lucas with every breath that he takes. He cuts off some of them with kisses— some, though, have enough intent behind them that Lucas breathes the sound into his mouth. It’s not long before Lucas is fully hard, and he pulls away to slide his boxers off. The way Lucas looks at him sends a shiver down his spine, a nonverbal _you too,_ and he gets up off the bed to take his underwear off as well. He sits back on the bed and Lucas is on him, all at once, everywhere. A hand slides around his hip, a thigh in between his legs, a pair of lips pressed to his. Lucas pushes him down, but he’s already turning them when his back hits the mattress. It would have been far harder if Lucas hadn’t been so willing, but in the next moment he’s the one on top, hovering over Lucas. He lets his hand drift downward as their lips meet again. He can’t quite reach, not comfortably, and so he shifts his body downward just a bit, latching his lips onto Lucas’ neck, and the younger boy’s breathy noises return in full force.

A particular gasp that Lucas lets out has him lifting his head back up to look, and once he has, he can’t stop.

Lucas’ mouth is agape, and his eyes are gently shut. There’s a blush running from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest, and his breathing shakes even when Eliott’s hand stills on his now hard cock. When Lucas’ eyes open, though, they pull Eliott back to him like gravity, and time resumes. He can never recall being affected this much by getting someone else off. But here he is, stroking and kissing Lucas, and he’s so hard that it’s bordering on painful, pulsing with pressure. He puts his attention back on Lucas, and cradles the younger boy’s face with one hand and his erection with the other, touches both of them with equal softness. He kisses and strokes until Lucas is tensing in his hand, moaning out “ _Eliott”_ in a way that, if he had been just a _little_ bit further along, would have him coming right alongside Lucas. They stop for a few moments, Eliott watching in awe as Lucas comes back into himself, and then he’s being pushed down into the mattress, with a gentle pressure.

“My turn.” Lucas says, smiling like he’s a predator who has just caught his prey. Eliott didn’t think it was possible for him to get harder, and yet harder he gets. Lucas kisses him open mouthed and hot and now he’s the one making sounds, a breathy whimper escaping him before he knows what’s happening. It’s embarrassing, but with Lucas looking at him the way that he is, he knows he’ll survive.

Lucas starts to kiss along his jaw, and then he moves downward. Eliott misses his lips the moment that they leave his, and his back arches of its own accord when Lucas presses a wet kiss to just the right spot on his neck. Lucas moves lower and lower, leaving a trail of kisses down his torso. He can still feel the ghost of Lucas’ lips, when a breeze blows in through the open window. There’s a brief moment when Lucas’ head is hovering over his crotch that Eliott thinks he’s about to receive a blowjob, but then Lucas takes him in his hand, and all of a sudden Eliott doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because Lucas is jerking him off, because Lucas’ mouth is on his again, and he can’t think, can’t even _imagine_ , anything but the two of them, together like this. Lucas kisses that same spot once again, and he’s so, _so_ close. When Lucas scrapes his teeth along it, though, humming so that he can feel the vibration throughout his entire body, Eliott is _gone._

“Ah… _Ah_ — Mm!” His toes curl and his hands grip the sheets as he comes, embarrassingly fast, his whole body tensing up as his vision whites out. Time stops as he lays there, letting his orgasm wash over him. Then he takes a deep breath in, and opens his eyes. Lucas is looking at him in a way that no one has before, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at home.

He loves Lucas, and he tries to tell him so when he presses a kiss into his hair after they’ve cleaned off and curled up together.

He loves Lucas, and he’s going to tell Lucille.

He has to.

 

  
\---

 

 

**APRÈS SAMEDI 09:17**

He really wishes, with every ounce of his being, that he could stay here forever.

He reaches over and checks his phone. The clock reads _11:24_ and the texts from Lucille sit unanswered on his lockscreen. He drags his body out of the bed, and he almost winces at how cold it is in the room when he isn’t under the blankets, holding another body close. Lucas’ body, for that matter, which makes his whole body light up in response, under his touch— he thinks Lucas could keep him warm, no matter where they are.

He puts on his pants and his shirt, now dry. Lucas had grabbed their things out of the dryer while Eliott was asleep, and his shirt is still slightly warm when he slips it on. He looks at Lucas as he sleeps, and he’s taken aback by how _mesmerizing_ Lucas is. He never thought that someone sleeping would be so interesting, but he could watch Lucas like this for hours. He wants to leave him a note, some sort of way to thank him properly, to tell him that he’d love to do this again.

The idea comes to him as he spots the small stack of post-it notes on Lucas’ desk, a black pen right beside them. The drawing is done quickly— more of a doodle, really— Lucas alone in bed, drawn as his animal alter-ego: a hedgehog.

Figuring out Lucas’ spirit animal had been a difficult task, one that he had certainly put far too much work into. Now that he’s started thinking of Lucas as a hedgehog, though, he can’t stop. It just fits so _well—_ small, first and foremost. Small and adorable, abrasive at times, but also wonderfully affectionate at others. He also loves the way it looks when drawn alongside a raccoon, which is a bonus.

He draws hedgehog-Lucas alone in bed on the first sticky note. One the second one, underneath the first, he draws the two of them in bed together, side-by-side. He draws a small heart between them, and then he thinks about what he should write to accompany it.

_Thank you, for last night and for this morning._

He thinks about the wording of it, but quickly scraps the idea when he realizes that it sounds too much like a post-one night stand sort of comment.

_I’d love to do this again, just tell me when and where._

Again, that makes it sound far too much like a hook-up sort of situation, which is the last thing he wants with Lucas. He wants something concrete and long-term and _real._

_I love you._

He almost writes it, he really does. But the more he thinks about it, about saying it so _soon,_ before they’re even officially together, the more scared he gets. It’s terrifying enough, to feel so deeply this early on, but articulating it— out loud, and even in writing— makes it real, makes it exist in the world, in a place other than his brain.

He’s not ready for that yet.

He ultimately decides on two lines, scrawled at the bottom of the second drawing. _Eliott no. 3546 is a fucking lucky guy_ is what the first says; the second, _you’re beautiful when you’re asleep._ Because Lucas _is,_ he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, both sleeping and awake. He places the note gently on the pillow that he had slept on last night, careful not to wake Lucas as he sleeps soundly. He’s almost to the door, but then he pauses.

He turns back, just for a moment, to press a feather-light kiss into Lucas’ hair. He stirs slightly, and Eliott is out of the room before he can see whether he’s woken him up.

 

\---

 

He walks hesitantly down the hallway and finds himself in the living area. There are two people sat at the dining table, and another at the stove— the girl from the other night.

“Oh,” He says, a bit surprised, “Good morning.” He tries to be as pleasant as possible. He tries not to look like anything in particular, he tries his best not to be the mysterious boy that just came out of Lucas’ bedroom.

But he can tell that he’s being scrutinized already, even from across the room.

“Morning,” One of them says in return, the man sat at the table, “Sleep well?” There _could_ be something ulterior in the question, but he can’t be certain. He nods in response. “I’m Mika, I’m sure Lucas has said plenty about me. And you are…?”

“Eliott,” he says, clearing his throat before introducing himself again, to the two girls in the room, “I’m Eliott.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Eliott,” The girl at the stove says as he scrapes something around in a pan, “— Well, at least properly this time.” She adds on with a wink. _Properly?_ His brain asks, but then _oh,_ she’s the one from the other night— the one that interrupted what very well could have been their first kiss. “I’m Manon.”

“Lisa!” The other girl at the table says, grinning at him before she turns her attention back to the game that her and Mika are playing at the table.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” He says, and it’s completely genuine. These are the people that Lucas lives with, that he spends his downtime with. Part of him wants to grab them all and interrogate them, so he can find out more about Lucas’ day-to-day life. Thankfully, he manages to keep that part of his brain roped in, at least for the time being.

“Can we get you anything?” Manon asks, “I’m making stir-fry for lunch, if you want some.” She holds up the pan to show him the vegetables inside.

“I’m okay, thank you though! I was just headed out, actually. I have some plans to attend to.” Manon nods and returns her attention to the stove. He heads toward the door and slips his shoes on.

“Will we be seeing you again, Eliott?” Mika asks, approaching him. The lilt to his voice is suggestive, and he’s not sure if Mika is implying what he thinks he’s implying, or if that’s just the way his voice sounds. He can’t help but blush at the question, and he chooses his next words a bit more carefully.

“Maybe, if Lucas will have me.” He had assumed that Mika was heading off to his room, or perhaps the bathroom. But when he straightens up after having put his shoes on, Mika’s still stood right by him, his face now serious.

“Listen, I just wanted to say,” Mika starts, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Lucas has gone through a lot of shit, okay? If he wants to tell you the details, then I’ll let him be the one to do that.” His mind has already gone into overdrive. He knows that no life is perfect, but he wants to know about the things that Lucas has gone through. He wants to know, and to love him all the more for it. He wants to have a heart-to-heart with him, where he tells Lucas all of his worst parts and Lucas tells him his in return. “But he doesn’t need any extra shit.” Mika’s voice gets even lower. He doesn’t think he had wanted Manon or Lisa to hear what he was saying before, but he _definitely_ doesn’t want to be heard now. “If you hurt him, in _any_ way, you’ll be answering to me, alright?”

“Alright.” He says, looking Mika in the eye as he nods. “I’m not sure what we are, me and Lucas, but…” He searches for the words, but he quickly realizes that all he needs is unabashed honesty. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting him, and I don’t ever plan on it.” _But I don’t always have a say in what I do,_ he almost adds, but doesn’t. He hasn’t even told Lucas about his bipolar disorder, he highly doubts that telling his roommates before him would create a good situation for him. Mika nods, smiling again, and he seems satisfied. “See you guys around.” He says, louder again, enough that Manon and Lisa can hear, and he walks through the doorway to a chorus of _see you!_

Mika is peeking through the doorway when he looks back briefly. He smiles at him, approving, and gives him a wave before closing the door.

 

\---

 

He walks to the cafe rather than bussing, enjoying the sunny weather. He almost chickens out at several points throughout the journey, telling himself that it’s not too late, that he can keep avoiding his problems— most of which currently involve Lucille.

But he knows that he needs to do this.

If he keeps avoiding Lucille, then she’ll keep pushing. When she pushes, he gets complacent, and if he gets complacent, they won’t get anywhere. If they don’t, then him and Lucas will never be able to be together, and he’ll probably die from pining and misery alone.

Because now that he’s gotten a taste of what love _should_ be, and he can’t go on with Lucille and what she thinks love is.

He gets to the cafe in the afternoon, right when Lucille’s Saturday class has ended. Naturally, she’s the sort of person that voluntarily takes a class on a Saturday, already adamant about getting her undergrad finished as quickly as possible. He orders a latte, something simple to give him some energy, to make it seem like he hadn’t spent most of the night making out with someone else. The caffeine works a little _too_ well, and he’s jittery when he finally spots Lucille as she comes around the corner. Her lips are a tight line, and he can tell that she’s keeping a scowl at bay. He can see everything that she’s about to say to him in her eyes.

“Hey.” He says, tries to be as nonchalant as he can be. When Lucille speaks, her voice is sharp, barely above a whisper.

“You couldn’t even answer my texts? I didn’t even know whether you’d show up.” Her jaw is clenched, and he can tell that she has to put in effort to look at him. “Surprised you did,” she starts, and he almost scoffs at her. “Since going on a date with me is clearly something that you have to endure.”

“Lucille, that’s not—”

“No, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” He tries to explain himself. He tries to plead his case, so that they can talk things out like adults. But Lucille’s never been one for listening. “You’re so bored with me that you convinced your friend to run off with you.” The confrontational part of him wants to correct her on her use of _friend,_ to tell her what really happened right here, get everything over with as quickly as humanly possible. “Did you ever stop and think about how Chloé feels? I spent an hour comforting her because she feels like _her_ boyfriend doesn’t care about her, either!” As much as he resents Chloé, he genuinely feels bad for her. She’s annoying, and invasive, but she didn’t ask for any of this to happen. None of them did, but Chloé’s the closest thing to an innocent in this mess of a situation.

He doesn’t feel bad enough to not steal her boyfriend, though.

If his relationship with Lucas can even be considered “stealing”.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt her, or _you_ , I just— I was stressed,” _with school, with everything,_ and tired,” _of you, and being controlled and the fighting,_ “and you pissed me off,” _because you can’t let me live my own life, I have to live exactly as you want me to,_ “and—”

“Right, I almost forgot.” He’s just about to cut in with a _can you please let me finish,_ but she’s already going again before he can arrange the words in his head. “I _pissed you off_ by suggesting that you stop drinking, as if you don’t know how you react to alcohol, how your _meds_ react to alcohol, so you could seem _cool_ in front of your new friend.”

“Lucille—” _Keep your voice down,_ he’s about to say. He remembers, suddenly, how much he hates her talking about his meds, about his episodes, in public.

“No, don’t even bother, Eliott. You bail every time I suggest we spend time together. Even when we do, you find a way to leave as soon as possible. I don’t know what your damage is, but you need to cut the bullshit real quick.” She leans in closely, and he pulls away, minutely, out of instinct. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” He looks anywhere but at her, and he can’t bring himself to speak. There are so many things running through his head. _Tell her the truth_ clashes with _lie yourself out of this mess_ clashes with _let it go, let things go back to normal_ , and he can’t get one statement separated from the other. His brain is a cacophony of noise, he opens his mouth and then closes it, repeats the action with the hope that something will come out— nothing does.

When he finally builds up the courage to look at Lucille, her eyebrows are knit together, her eyes blown wide: she’s realized something.

“There’s someone else,” she asks, suddenly quiet, “isn’t there?” If he’s honest, he really isn’t sure. They haven’t _talked_ about what they are, but he wants to be ready when that talk happens.

He nods silently.

“Again, really? And _how_ is this different than the other times?” She asks, and her voice alone is sharp enough to cut him, she’s already landing the low blows. He regrets the people he’s seeked out during his past manic episodes, when his body moves faster than his brain. He really does. He regrets the texts he’s sent to Lucille afterward, when he’s still up, texts of _i’ve found someone else,_ or _i’m sorry_ when he has the conscience to feel bad, or _i’ve never loved you_ when he’s feeling particularly mean. It’s only happened a couple of times, but he regrets each one to the point where thinking about them makes him feel sick to his stomach.

And Lucille knows this.

But she still holds it over him, a debt he’ll never be able to repay.

“I don’t know,” He says, backing down already. Lucille makes him feel small and he hates it, more than anything in the world. “I want it to be, though.” He didn’t even want any of the few people he’s gotten with, aside from Lucille. He wanted a body next to him, or he wanted to get revenge on Lucille for making him upset. But he’s never gotten with anyone because he’s genuinely _wanted_ to be with them— until Lucas. “And I’m not manic, right now.”

“But how do you know that for sure?” She asks, and in this moment he’s almost _angry_ at her question, at her. She doesn’t get to ask him if he knows what’s happening in his own head, if he knows where his brain is at.

No one does.

“Because I know myself.” He says, speaking just as softly as she is. He’s not sure if he believes himself right now, but he wants to make sure that she does. “I know when I’m manic and when I’m not. Just because I can’t control it doesn’t mean that I don’t know when it’s happening.”

“Right, because the _last_ time you were manic, I’m sure you were fully aware of what you were doing, right?” He hates that she knows exactly what to say to cut him as deeply as possible. The worst part is that she’s right, whenever they argue she relies on facts and nothing else. Everything she says hurts the most because all of it’s true.

“Lucille, please keep your voice down.” He manages to say now, to ask of her, because they’re still in public. _She should know this by now,_ the rational part of his brain taking his side, for once. _She knows how much you hate it when she talks about your meds and your episodes in public, and yet she still does it._

“Who is she, then? Do I know her? Where’d you two meet?” Lucille says, tearing him out of his thoughts. Her voice is louder again, almost enough to make him wince.

“It’s not like that.” He says, and his brain kicks into overdrive, trying to find a way to reveal enough information without revealing too much.

“Not like _what,_ Eliott?” _I would tell you if you would stop interrupting me,_ he almost says. “Don’t I have a right to know about the girl who ruined my relationship?” He almost laughs at her. At how angry she is, at how little she knows— about this situation, about their relationship, about him.

“It’s not a girl.” Is what he decides on, keeping his voice as quiet and flat as possible. At first he doesn’t think that Lucille has heard him, but she leans forward, and if looks could kill, he’d be long gone at this point.

“ _What_?”

“It’s not,” He swallows, trying to make his voice clearer even though he knows Lucille heard him, “A girl. It’s a boy.” _The loveliest boy, who I care about more than I can put into words— who cares about me like I always wished you would._

 _I’m sorry_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t dare say anything more. Lucille’s breathing is far too even, far too controlled. She’s staring daggers at him, and then water is splashing all over him before he knows what’s happening. When he opens his eyes, Lucille is looking over at him with a scowl.

“You told me once that you’re only into boys when you’re manic.” She says, putting her jacket on and grabbing her bag. “So you’re not really helping your case.” He wishes he could think of something to say in response, something to give him the last word, but she’s gone before the words come to him. He’s left alone at the table, stunned. When he gets up to leave, he briefly thinks about the fact that he should _probably_ feel bad, about hurting Lucille.

But he doesn’t.

  


\---

 

 

**MERCREDI 10:40**

He’s going out on a bit of a limb here, he’ll admit.

He’s _pretty_ sure that Lucas has biology at this time on Wednesdays, but he’s not certain, and that gives him some pause. He should be in class right now himself, but he can’t bring himself to stay for long— or at all, most days— after his outburst. Even when nothing goes wrong, he can still feel eyes on him, wondering if he’ll do something again— anticipating it, even. He hasn’t had a day quite like that since, so he’s not too worried about it happening again, but he feels suffocated in the room. He feels like the class is walking on eggshells around him, that his group-mates are scared of him, or pitying him.

He’s not sure which is worse.

So he left.

And maybe he wants Lucas to leave with him.

He walks outside, peering into the windows as he goes. He manages to figure out where the biology classroom is, and he nearly jumps in triumph when he sees Lucas and Imane, sat together, attention turned to their assignment.

He takes his phone out, but then stops for a moment. It isn’t too often that he gets to just _look_ at Lucas. He knows that Lucas not knowing makes the situation kind of strange, but he can’t bring himself to care. Lucas’ eyebrows are furrowed as he writes something on his page— and he’s so, _so_ beautiful. He wants nothing more than t run his hands through Lucas’ hair, to see him smile, to lean in and kiss him again. His heart _flutters_ at the thought, and he grins as he types out a text to Lucas.

 

 **Eliott:** look out the window

 

Lucas looks up, his head scanning the windows. He’s fairly well hidden— thankful that the teacher hasn’t noticed his presence yet— so it takes Lucas a moment to spot him. When he does, though, Eliott can’t hide his ear-to-ear grin. He looks down to his phone and sends another text.

 

 **Eliott:** you coming?

 

Lucas looks back up, and he tries his best to be casual, wiggling his eyebrows a bit when their eyes meet again. In truth, though, he’s been jittery with excitement all day— now there’s nothing in their way, they can finally be together, can finally love each other out in the open. It makes him so excited that he wants to shout it from the rooftops.

His heart leaps when he sees Lucas gathering his things. The rational part of his brain knows that Lucas was most likely in the middle of something, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much. He also knows that Lucas wouldn’t be afraid to tell him if his assignment was too important to miss.

He bounds over to the door as Lucas gets out of his seat. When Lucas comes out, he has the same look on his face as always— neutral, mysterious, unreadable. _Adorable,_ he adds on as Lucas gets closer and closer.

“ _Salut!_ ” He says, nearly jumping on Lucas as he presses their lips together. Lucas’ eyes go wide, looking around after they pull apart, and he grabs Lucas’ hand, pulling him along. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He wants to go anywhere, _everywhere,_ he doesn’t even know where to start. They could go back to his place, to kiss and kiss and _kiss_ in private. They could walk together, their fingers intertwined as they go. They could see a movie together, get dinner, go one all of the most cliche dates—

“Wait, wait,” Lucas says, stopping their movement. “I still have two hours left, I can’t skip.” And, okay, that’s a bit of a wrench in the plans that he’s in the process of making up in his head as they speak— but it’s fine, if anything, he respects Lucas’ work ethic, wishes he could be that dedicated and comfortable in his classes.

“I told Lucille,” He says, changing the subject, “about us.” He lifts their still joined hands up into the air a bit when he says _us._ He’s expecting Lucas to be at least _half_ as excited as he is— because he’ll admit he’s being a little dramatic in his happiness but he can’t help it— but Lucas looks down at his feet, nodding wordlessly. He doubts himself immediately— isn’t that what Lucas wanted? Isn’t the feeling of wanting to be uninterruptedly together mutual? “Aren’t you pleased?”

“Yeah, I am.” Lucas says, his voice low. He can see a hint of a smile on Lucas’ face, and it works wonders to comfort him already. “I just don’t want you to be sad, or… for it to be my fault.” He gets a surge of affection, then, and he wants to hug Lucas in that moment. Lucas is so _considerate_ , so caring, and his mind is going crazy over the fact that they can be together now, that he can have Lucas all to himself.

“I’m not sad!” He says, leaning in to press their foreheads together. He rubs their noses together, and he wants to laugh— in triumph, in _relief—_ because it’s felt like he’s been waiting for something all his life, without knowing what it is.

Until now.

Because that _something,_ and he’s certain of it, is Lucas.

“You swear?” Lucas is looking at him, even with their foreheads still pressed together, and his expression has softened. His whole _being_ has relaxed, especially when Eliott hums in affirmation, reassuring Lucas that he could never be sad about something like this. It’s unfortunate that Lucille is upset with him, he’ll admit, but the fact that all of the strife that she’s caused him has come to and end makes him happier than words can describe.

“And what about you, are you up for telling your parents about us?” He’s already planned out the conversation he’ll have with his parents in his head (and revised it, and re-revised it) and he wants to know if Lucas is just as eager.

_Maman, Papa, I have something to tell you._

_What is it, dear,_ the parents in his head say, as they sit on the couch in his parents’ home, out in the countryside, _everything alright?_

_Yes, yes, everything’s fine. More than, actually._

_Oh?_ They say in perfect unison, the sun shining, birds chirping outside— despite the fact that it’s February.

_Well, I… I broke up with Lucille._

_Oh, honey,_ his mother coos, sympathetic. _Wait, why is that good?_

 _Well, because…_ the him in his head takes a deep breath. _Things weren’t going so well between us, and they haven’t been for a while. Ending is was best for both of us, I think._

 _I see,_ his father says, nodding at him.

 _And now there’s someone else._ He skips over the part about the fact that his seeing Lucille and his seeing Lucas intersected, and the part about him getting a glass of water thrown in his face as a result. _Do you remember what I said to you, that conversation we had when I was sixteen?_

 _Honey, you’re a talkative person, you’ll have to be more specific,_ his father jokes, and he laughs along with him.

_When I said that I like girls, but I also like boys, too._

_Ah, yes,_ his parents nod at each other, _we remember that._

 _Well… the “someone else,” he’s a boy. His name is Lucas, and he’s…_ even in his head, where everything is easy, he still can’t find the proper words to describe Lucas. _I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for him. Not with Lucille, not with anyone._

And then the him and the parents in his head hug things out, and his plan-slash-daydream scenario ends, fading out like the closing shot of a movie.

“Yeah.” Lucas’ expression has hardened again, and it puts him on alert. It’s not where it was when they first saw each other, only moments ago, but it’s not as soft as it had just been. “My father feels guilty about leaving us alone to deal with everything, so… He probably won’t have much to say.” _Leaving us alone?_ What does Lucas mean by that? A wave of doubt washes over him, and he realizes how much he _doesn’t_ know about Lucas. He knows he _wants_ to know, he wants to know as much as possible, if Lucas will let him. “And my mom is crazy, so I don’t give a fuck.”

Crazy.

All of his thoughts come to a lurching, screeching halt.

_Crazy._

“... What do you mean, ‘crazy’?” Lucas looks off to the side, contemplating. He can see the deliberation in his eyes, choosing what to say, and what not to say. He wants to know what he means, he _needs_ to, because he’s sure it’s some sort of misunderstanding, that Lucas doesn’t mean crazy in the way that he thinks he does.

He tries not to feel sick to his stomach.

He tries not to remember the way people at his old _lycée_ whispered in the halls about him after his last episode. He tries to pretend he can’t still hear their voices saying _i heard he’s bipolar, I heard he’s medicated, I heard he’s crazy, I heard he’s crazy, crazy crazy crazy—_

“She thinks the apocalypse is upon us, and that Jesus sent her to Earth to save us all.” Lucas says, and he tries to see that as a justification, as a much needed comparison, an _at least I’m not that crazy,_ but it just makes him feel worse. Because he’s interacted with people like Lucas’ mom, when he was hospitalized, when nothing made sense yet— and they’re people, just like he is. “But don’t worry, I don’t talk to her.” That hits him like a punch to the gut, because he doesn’t experience delusions often but he _has,_ and they don’t seem to be as intense and persistent as Lucas is making his mother’s out to be, but they’re delusions nonetheless.

If that’s Lucas’ criterion for being crazy, then he’s crazy, and that _terrifies_ him.

“I’m not worried,” He lies. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

“Because I don’t need crazy people in my life.” Lucas has stolen all of the breath out of his lungs before, but never like this. Now, Lucas is torturing him, tormenting him, with nothing but his words— and he doesn’t even know it. He takes a shaky breath. There’s a distant ringing in his ears, he realizes. “So, I’m a hedgehog?” Lucas tries to change the subject but he barely hears, him, his heart is thudding in his chest, he can feel his breathing picking up gradually, and he tries to keep it at bay. He looks down at his feet, away from Lucas, because he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

 _You’re killing me, you know that?_ He wants to say. _You’re killing me and you don’t even know it._ He hears the rustling of paper and then he’s looking down at the drawing he left on Saturday, folded up from being in Lucas’ pocket. _You’re killing me, and it’s my fault that you don’t know it._

Why does that feel so long ago, all of a sudden?

Why do they feel so far apart?

“You’ll be late for class.” He says, and his voice sounds foreign, even coming from his own mouth. Lucas shakes his head, smiling and tilting his head _just so,_ and he wishes he could bring himself to kiss Lucas, he really does.

But he can’t, not right now.

So he stops him with a hand in his hair, playing it off as if he’s ruffling it, when really it’s because he can’t bear to have Lucas any closer. _Distance,_ his brain screams at him. _Distance, isolate, Lucas, crazy, Lucas, distance, crazy, Lucas, crazy, crazy—_

He walks away, then. He doesn’t know where he’s going, whether he’ll end up home or somewhere else, but he doesn’t care, he just knows that he can’t be here, not right now. He hates that he left Lucas alone, without being honest with him. He wants to be honest with him, but now he’s even more scared than before. Scared that he’ll scare Lucas away.

Scared that he’ll lose the best thing in his life, before he even truly has it.

 

 

\---

 

 

**JEUDI 17:49**

On days like these, he doesn’t exist in time.

He didn’t realize that today was a school day until classes were already over, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s far too confused to care about anything right now— except for his conversation with Lucas. It consumes his mind completely, to the point where he’s pulling

 _I don’t need crazy people in my life_ is looping through his head for the thousandth time, when his phone buzzes.

 

 **Lucas:** What are you doing tomorrow night?

Can we see each other?

 

 _Speak of the devil,_ he thinks. He hates the feeling that settles in this pit of his stomach at even seeing Lucas’ name. Not anger, not even frustration, but… Regret. Guilt. _Fear._

 

 **Lucas:** It’s done.

I told my roommate.

 

 _I’m so proud of you,_ he wants to respond. He sits with his phone in his lap for a few minutes, contemplating his next move, his mind a mess. He can’t keep doing this, that he knows. He can’t hide from Lucas forever— he’s sure that Lucas won’t let him. But he needs some time, he needs to organize his thoughts. He needs to figure out how to tell Lucas that he’s bipolar— that he might just be _crazy,_ on his worst days— because it’s not a matter of _if,_ anymore— but _when._

 

 **Eliott:** That’s cool, I’m happy for you.

Sorry, I can’t tomorrow.

Actually I think I need some time.

It’s not your fault, but… maybe it’s going a little too fast for me.

Forgive me.

 

There are some truths in that message, but there are far more lies. He sends _I’m happy for you_ because he is, he genuinely is. He remembers having come out to his family members, not long after he came out to himself. He knows how hard it is.

In truth, he _could,_ tomorrow. He’s not busy other than class, and his body aches for Lucas as much as he’s now scared of him.

The next two lines are blatant lies. He doesn’t need time, he needs to get over himself, but he can’t tell Lucas that. It could never be going too fast for him— they could be hurtling through every relationship milestone at terminal velocity, they could be moving things along at a snail’s pace, it wouldn’t matter. Any pace is perfect if it’s with Lucas.

Every time he imagines telling Lucas, he can’t picture anything positive. He knows that he won’t be able to say it confidently, clearly, in one clean-cut statement. He imagines himself telling Lucas in a thousand different ways, _I’m bipolar,_ and _I have bipolar disorder,_ and even simply _I have a mental illness,_ but he doesn’t _want_ to keep it ambiguous with Lucas, and he realizes that quickly.

The many Lucases in his mind react differently, but all of them negatively. There’s one that only lets out a stunned _oh_ and they stand there in infinite, uncomfortable silence. Another says _I can’t do this right now, I need some time, sorry_ and the Lucas in his mind leaves him standing alone, abandoned. Another— and he knows that his Lucas would never say something like this— says _fuck, you’re crazy just like my mother._ Thinking about that one makes it hard for him to breathe, but now that it’s in his head he can’t stop. And now his brain is frantically repeating _crazy crazy crazy_ and it’s his least favourite word and he can’t take it anymore so he curls up in bed. He slams his eyes shut as tightly as he can, his whole body curled up into a tense ball, until his limbs loosen, if only slightly, in fitful sleep.

 

 

\---

 

 

**VENDREDI 19:21**

He thinks he’s at Chloé’s house, but that doesn’t really matter.

What matters now is the music that makes it too loud for him to think. There’s people that he knows and people that he doesn’t, but the few— some might say _too many_ — beers that he’s had has made everything a bit blurry around the edges. _I don’t need crazy people in my life_ only whispers in his head now, a much-needed respite from the sharp, constant roar of it that had been deafening all of his other thoughts since Wednesday.

So he drinks, and laughs, and drinks, and dances, and drinks, and kisses, and drinks.

Lucille doesn’t try and stop him, this time. He forgets about her when he isn’t looking at her— the problem, though, is that he doesn’t really want to look at her. She’s there and then gone, then there again. He barely remembers texting her, but he knows there was an address and a _lonely_ and a _please_ and a _sorry_ somewhere in there. He remembers her arriving shortly after, and here he is, now. He’s sat on a couch, and he can’t seem to pick up on the multiple conversations going on around him, but he’s far too drunk to care— about them, about anything.

“Hey,” Lucille says, suddenly beside him once more. When did she get there? “Are you okay?”

“Mm,” He hums in assurance. “Fine, good, yeah.” The music thumps in his ears suddenly, and he feels the urge to leave, alone, and go home. “Gonna go get some air.” He tries to imply as heavily as possible that he wants to do so by himself, but Lucille gets up right when he does, following closely behind him. _Alone,_ he almost says, but then he remembers that he was the one that asked for her to come in the first place. They leave out the side door, and he hears someone shouting that sounds quite a bit like Chloé, but it’s too loud and he’s too drunk to comprehend what the voice is saying. The cool air that hits his face is refreshing, exactly what he needed. He closes his eyes and he lets it hit him, but he opens his eyes again when he feels Lucille take his hand.

“Eliott, are you sure you’re okay?” Lucille looks so genuinely concerned for him, and it makes his chest ache hollowly. It’s moments like these when he almost— _almost—_ regrets cutting things off.

“Yes, Lucille, I promise.” He squeezes her hand, leaning in for a quick peck. “I just had a little bit too much to drink. The cool air’s helping, though.” He smiles down at her, and she leans up to kiss him, properly this time. His brain is cloudy with beer, and he enjoys the way her lips feel against his— familiar, safe. “What changed?” She asks when they pull apart. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Why did you text me, and tell me to come here— what changed?” He looks at her in that moment, hard, steady, and he kisses her again.

He hopes that she won’t realize he’s avoiding the question.  


 

\---

 

 

**APRÈS VENDREDI 19:21**

Lucille leads him, like she always does. It takes him half of the journey home to realize that they’re on a bus. He’s began to sober up by the time they get off at the nearest stop, and he can hear Lucas’ voice growing louder in his head already. If he were by himself this would probably turn into a night of drunken wandering, an aimless walk filled with more beer or vodka or _whatever_ he could get his hands on, walking through the streets of Paris until he gets too tired and finds his way back home.

“Eliott,” Lucille pulls him out of his own head, and he realizes that they’re stood at his front door, “Do you have your keys?”

“Yeah.” He says, shaking his head to dispel the fog and unlocking the door, pulling her inside with arms that don’t feel like his own. He knows in his head what he’s _supposed_ to be doing, right now, and so he does. He pulls Lucille close as he closes the door behind him. They kiss, and he tries his hardest to ignore how wrong it feels. The liquor is starting to wear off and everything is far too loud and close, the entire world coming back at him in an instant.

Lucille runs her hand up his chest, and when his eyes slip closed, she morphs into Lucas.

He shuts his eyes tighter and tries to push the image away. He tries to focus on Lucille, who he’s loved, who he’s supposed to _still_ love. He tries to focus on how different Lucille’s hands are to Lucas’, but then he can’t stop thinking about Lucas’ hands. Lucas’ hands, Lucas’ smile, Lucas’ mouth…

Lucas saying that he doesn’t need _crazy_ people in his life.

 _Crazy people like you,_ his mind bites.

 _He doesn’t even know,_ he tries to reason, but it falls flat. What will happen when he _does_ know, what will he do? Will he cut things off, like he did with his mother? Will he pity him, treat him like a task, a child, a _burden_ , like Lucille does far too often?

He can’t bear to think about either option.

The complacent part of his brain chimes in, and reasons that Lucille is all he has, at times. She knows him more than anyone else, she’s seen him at his worst. _You’ve cheated on her,_ his brain reminds him, never quite letting him forget the heights of his mania, _and she’s still here, taking care of you._ She knows him— at his worst, no less— and still chooses not to leave, no matter what— isn’t that everything that he should want?

She kisses up his neck and it feels like a hot brand in all of the worst ways, and he can’t help but jerk away.

“Eliott, what—”

“I can’t.” _I don’t want to,_ he thinks as he pushes her backward gently. “Lucille, stop, I can’t.”

“What is _with_ you lately?” As exasperated as he tone is, he knows that she means well by asking the question.

“I don’t know, I just…” He doesn’t answer the question because he doesn’t know where to start.

“Are you depressed again?” A switch flips and he’s suddenly frustrated with her, because she’s asked him that dozens of times. It frustrates him to think that she views every emotion that he feels as the precursor to an episode. If he’s sad he must be depressed. If he’s happy he must be manic. He hates it.  “Is this an episode, because if it is, then we can—”

“Lucille, not everything is an episode!” He regrets it immediately when he sees the way that her eyes widen. _She’s trying to take care of you,_ the rational part of his brain reminds him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I want things to stay the same.” He starts, because he does. He hates change, and everything in his life feels so up in the air right now that it makes him anxious. Some days when he feels too depressed to go to class he has panic attacks over the fact that he’s missing class and he _hates_ it. This is starting off like a statement that he would say to his therapist and he hates it, hates it when his problems and his mental illness leak their way into what should be normal conversations. “But nothing makes sense anymore.” His life is made of variables, of possibilities. Nothing is concrete, especially not him. “And I _want_ to love you, like I did before. I want things to be easy, the way they were, but I just…” His voice cracks, just a little, and he can feel the tears bubbling up. It feels like he’s cried far too much recently, and yet not nearly enough. “They can’t, and I can’t, and I’m sorry.”

“Eliott, where is all of this coming from? This is all so sudden.” Lucille’s voice is soft, and that only brings him closer to tears.

“You know that boy I told you about?” Lucille nods, and he takes a deep breath. “It’s Lucas, Chloé’s boyfriend.” Her eyes go wide, and he can feel his heart pounding. He knows everything is on the verge of pouring out— tears, the truth, _everything._ “I love him, I really, really love him.” Lucille sighs, and he can hear the shakiness in it. For once, she’s quietly listening to him, waiting for what he has to say next. “But we were talking the other day, and he was talking about his mom.” He feels the first tear roll down his cheek, and he wipes it away quickly. Three more fall in its place, and this time he lets them “He called her crazy, and he said that he doesn’t need crazy people in his life.” He’s thankful for the way that Lucille seems to understand immediately. “I haven’t told him yet.” She nods silently “I’m _terrified_ to, Lucille. I feel like I can’t but I also know that I have to.” He’s properly crying now, and when she seems satisfied that he’s finished talking, she pulls him into a hug. Loose enough that he can pull away if he wants to, but firm enough that he feels held, safe. He sobs into her shoulder, cries like he never has before. They’re like that for a long time, stood in each other’s arms, Eliott wetting her shoulder.

“Why do you keep coming back?” He gets the words out between heaving breaths, the sobs still wracking his body. “Why do you always come running, even when— when I’ve been an asshole to you, when I’ve treated you like shit, when I fall in love with other people, you always come back when I need you.” He pulls back to look at her, and he knows that his eyes are bloodshot. He knows what he looks like, and she still looks at him like he’s precious. “ _Why?_ ” He feels bad about it, he feels _so_ bad— despite all the fighting, all the anger, all the problems, she comes when he needs her, even after he tells her that he doesn’t need her anymore.

“Eliott,” She takes his face in her hands. “I _love_ you.” That pulls another sob from him, the hiccuping sound now raspy “Even if you go and fall in love with other people, I still love you.” He feels so bad for hurting her, he just wants everything to be okay. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, even if this time with this boy is different. You were— _are—_ my first love. Even if you don’t love me anymore, as much as it hurts, I still love you. I want to see you _happy,_ Eliott, and if that’s not with me anymore, then… Then so be it.” He thinks he might see her wipe a tear from her eyes, but he can’t be sure in the low light. “But you’re not doing well, right now, that much I can tell. I don’t care if it’s an episode, I want to make sure you make it through the night okay, but if you don’t want me to, then… I’ll leave.” He weighs the offer in his mind, going back and forth between _I need to be alone right now_ and _stay right here until everything feels okay again._

“Stay, please.”

And stay she does. The warmth of her body is comfortingly familiar, something that he’s felt dozens, if not hundreds of times. But something has shifted, now. His world is different, Lucille knows about Lucas, he’s done it. So why does his body ache with how hard he’s been crying? Why is he so confused and scared?

So why does he feel _worse?_

He doesn’t know how to proceed with Lucas, and it terrifies him. He wants him, so badly, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. But he can still hear it in his mind, _I don’t need crazy people in my life, I don’t need crazy people in my life, I don’t need crazy people in my life,_ an infinite chant that only leaves him once he falls asleep.

When he wakes, his head pounds with the beginnings of a hangover.

He’s alone in the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long-winded post-chapter notes:
> 
> \- first of all, eliott's a vers, so jot that down  
> \- i realize that the timing of the handjob after like a day of being "together" (if they can even be considered that yet) might be a bit iffy, but i figure it's okay considering how much intense pining they've done for each other over the weeks.  
> \- i took inspiration/reference for the aforementioned scene from the shots that are interspersed over their conversation about parallel universes, during _samedi 09:17_ , because those shots are my absolute favourite, and i couldn't _not_ include them.  
> \- this is simply part one in what i like to call my "mama-bear mika manifesto" (bonus points for alliteration?)  
> \- what's that?? implicit sympathy for lucille as a character??? _how'd that get there?!_  
>  \- i'm trying to write little snapshots of hypomania for eliott— because he's not even fully hypomanic yet, let alone fully manic— while he's waiting for lucas to leave class, for example. i've never written anything for a character like eliott before, someone that suffers from bipolar disorder, so these snapshots are a bit of a shot in the dark. if you have any suggestions about them pertaining to how i can improve the portrayal of them, don't hesitate to let me know!!  
> \- also, some of you may have noticed the absence of eliott's insta posts in this chapter. let's just say i have a plan!!
> 
> all aboard the Hell Week(s?) Train™, choo choo!!


	13. 06— Insomnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'I don’t need crazy people in my life' has now been replaced by 'I can’t do this', echoing over and over again. There’s far too much noise in his head, and so he tries to diffuse it bringing the noise outward._
> 
> _“I’m bipolar, and the boy that I care about doesn’t know.” He says to no one, to the trees, to the night sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a shorter one— especially compared to the 12k+ words from the last chapter! in my defense, there is _very_ little eliott in this episode, and i'm content with the amount of speculation i've put in this chapter.
> 
> but you all know what comes next— episode seven! which _also_ doesn't have a whole lot of eliott, but i'm planning on doing some important "after" scenes, as well as at least one bonus chapter between episode seven and eight!
> 
> [reminder that i'm on tumblr!! have questions about this fic, and the process for it? want to see me reblog just a bunch of skam france (and OG) content? want to communicate with me on a platform other than AO3? come talk to me on tumblr!!](https://paspeurpaspeurpaspeur.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you for your patience and for reading. i hope you enjoy. <3

**AVANT LUNDI 08:52**

The fact that he manages to get his homework done is, frankly, a miracle.

The quiet apartment is far too loud for his brain. Every sound that passes through— neighbors closing their doors, the building settling— startles him. He’s far too tired to be this on edge, it’s noon but it feels like he hasn’t slept in days. There’s a weight on his brain— the sort that always comes after tumultuous nights— and he knows that only time will lighten it. When he tries to think of Lucas, or Lucille, or  _ anything,  _ it gets heavier, to the point where it gets hard for him to breathe. 

He tries to make a list. This time, he writes it down on a page, flipping open a nearby notebook to a blank page.

_ One, Lucille hates me. She hates me because _

_ Two, I fell in love with Lucas, while we were still together. _

Every time he uses “love” and “Lucas” in the same sentence, his heart leaps, despite everything.

_ Three, I’m in love with Lucas. But I can’t be in love with him, because _

_ Four, he said that he doesn’t need crazy people in his life. _

_ Five, by crazy he clearly means mentally ill because _

_ Six, he was referring to his mother but _

_ Seven, I’m mentally ill, too. And _

_ Eight, if that was what he meant, then _

_ Nine, he doesn’t need me. If he truly doesn’t need me, then _

_ Ten, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it through the rest of the school year, because _

_ Eleven, I can’t bear the thought of him looking at me and feeling nothing. _

His traitorous brain pictures it, because of course it does. The Eliott in his head is begging,  _ pleading _ wordlessly to a Lucas that looks stone cold and completely  _ wrong.  _ Lucas brushes by, grazing against him, and he knows deep inside somewhere that this Lucas won’t be coming back to him. The him inside of his head crumples on the floor, falling to his knees, and he has to work to keep his actual legs from giving out.

_ Twelve, I don’t even care if we stay friends, because _

_ Thirteen, I’ll take whatever he gives me, but _

_ Fourteen, I can’t bear to be a stranger to him. Not anymore. _

_ Fifteen, I don’t know how to tell him without scaring him away, so _

_ Sixteen, I’m scared of telling him, but _

_ Seventeen, I have to. _

Even if Lucas can’t take dating him, he thinks, with a bittersweet taste in his mouth— he still has to tell him. He  _ wants  _ to tell him.

And another episode can come at any time, without warning. 

_ Eighteen, this isn’t something that I can hide for long. _

And he deserves everything, including the truth, because—

_ Nineteen, I love him. _

And even though,

_ Twenty, I’m so scared to love him. _

Despite everything, though Lucas may never know it—

_ Twenty one, I love him. _

He moves through his math assignment mechanically. He isn’t sure whether any of the questions have been answered correctly, but he can’t bring himself to care. He convinces himself that having it done badly is better than not having done at all. What’s one bad assignment, he reasons with himself. He can barely focus on the reading he has to do for foreign lit, but he manages. If he looks up the book on sparknotes before class the day of, no one has to know.

He looks at his phone, and thinks of texting Lucas.

_ Thinking of you. _

No.

_ Hey, how’s your weekend going? _

No.

_ There’s something I need to talk to you about. Can we meet somewhere? _

His stomach lurches uncomfortably at that one. He wants things to be okay between them first, before he tries to tell him something that heavy. Everything is so uncertain, and he doesn’t want to make everything worse. He erases it a moment later and tosses his phone on the other end of the couch.

 

\--

 

**LUNDI 08:52**

He’s at the front doors of the  _ lycée  _ before he knows it, having come to school in a bit of a daze. Time passes differently when his brain is like this. He feels detached from it, like he’s moving at a different speed than everyone else. With his head down and his headphones in his ears, he thinks of how similar this is to his first day here. He tries to blend in, he hopes beyond hope that no one will notice him, that he’ll be able to fly underneath the radar, if only for today. 

When he sees Lucas, walking through the courtyard just as he’s turning the corner into the hallway, he thinks of how everything is uncertain once more. More than anything, though, his body— his whole being—  _ aches  _ for Lucas.  _ Go to him  _ echoes from somewhere deep within his body. He almost does, he almost turns and runs and pulls Lucas into his arms, but he doesn’t. There is a wall between him and Lucas, one of his own making, one that only he can knock down. 

So he ducks his head and turns the corner before Lucas can see him.

 

\---

 

**AVANT MARDI 13:08**

He builds up the courage—  _ finally—  _ to reach out to Lucas, the only way he knows how. He thinks of the moment on Monday when he saw Lucas, when he had a chance and let it pass by, and he draws the first picture, boxed in choppily on one side of the page. Hedgehog-Lucas is walking along a hallway in the background, while raccoon-Eliott cowers in the foreground, wringing his hands. He writes  _ Eliott no. 25473 doesn’t take the opportunity  _ underneath it and then makes another box right beside it. The second drawing has the same setting, but this time raccoon-Eliott is in the background with hedgehog-Lucas, smiling and talking and working things out— the way he wishes they could.

He captions this one  _ Eliott no. 34512 runs toward his destiny.  _ While he fixes the line up just a bit, he thinks of how far away he’s made these two Eliotts from him, from Eliott number one.

How Eliott number thirty-four-thousand-five-hundred-and-twelve’s destiny might not be the same as his.

_ Next time,  _ he tells himself, in any case. Next time he sees Lucas, he needs to give this to him.

 

\---

 

**MARDI 13:08**

_ Next time  _ comes far earlier than expected, and when he sees Lucas in line in the cafeteria, he knows he has to act fast. He hasn’t seen him properly, like this, in far too long. Part of him wants to stand there, just  _ looking _ , for as long as he can. But he also knows that this will probably be his only chance. He makes a mental note to apologize to the girl he just cut in front of if he sees her at any point later. He pulls out his drawing from his pocket, where it’s been sitting heavily all day, and slips it into Lucas’ right jacket pocket before they even make eye contact. He tries— and most likely fails— to make their meeting seem coincidental, reaching for his own lunch. When he looks over, Lucas is looking over at the two plates set out in front of him. He looks tired, he looks upset. He wants to reach out and touch Lucas, gently, to hold him. He wants to ask  _ I don’t know what to do, I hate the distance between us, can we please talk about what’s going on?  _

Instead, as per usual, he tries to deflect the heavy tension between them with humour.

“If I were you,” he says, looking toward the plates, “I’d take both.” When he looks over at Lucas, he’s already looking at him. Lucas’ gaze is heavy, not unlike that day in the courtyard.  _ How do I make everything okay,  _ he wants to say. He wants to get down on his knees and plead with Lucas,  _ please let me make everything okay. _

“Sometimes, you have to choose,” Lucas says with a shrug. He seems so flat, so even, so  _ unaffected  _ by all this and he wants to scream, he wants to materialize the wall between them and beat it down with his bare hands until they bleed. Does Lucas really not feel anything, is this some sort of mask that he’s put on, or is he being genuine? He’s not sure which is worse— if Lucas feels nothing for him, or is he’s this skilled at putting on a front.

“Do you think that, in the kitchens, they—” Lucas interrupts him, then. He grabs a plate, slamming it down on his tray, and he’s already turning to leave.

“Sorry, I can’t do this.” Lucas’ voice is still terrifyingly even. His eyes follow him as he walks away, down the hall toward the tables. He grabs his own food a moment later and follows. When he turns the corner, Lucas is stood still, looking out over the cafeteria. A beat passes and then Lucas is slamming his tray on the collection cart, and then he’s leaving, the same way he came. 

When Lucas bumps into him as he goes, he doesn’t look at him. He thinks of the Lucas that was in his head days ago, and how it seems as if he’s leapt out into the real world, in this moment. He thinks of his drawing, and how he almost—  _ almost— _ wishes he could take it back.

 

\---

 

**JEUDI 01:48**

Usually, looking up at the stars makes him feel a little less alone. This time, though, it doesn’t. He looks up and he sees nothing but a dark sky. He hears the sounds of distant animals through the trees as he sits under  _ la petite ceinture _ , and the silence is slowly suffocating him.

 

**Eliott:** Did you tell him

**Eliott:** Lucas, did you tell him that I’m bipolar

 

His frantic texts to Lucille from a while ago still sit unanswered. There can’t be any other explanation, really. Lucille has a way with tracking people down, about getting their information and telling them things that they really don’t need to know— particularly about him.  _ I don’t need crazy people in my life  _ has now been replaced by  _ I can’t do this _ , echoing over and over again. There’s far too much noise in his head, and so he tries to diffuse it bringing the noise outward.

“I’m bipolar, and the boy that I care about doesn’t know.” He says to no one, to the trees, to the night sky. “Or maybe he does, I’m not sure. But  _ I _ didn’t tell him, and I need to.” The noise of the crickets in the bushes seems to quiet slightly, almost as if they’re listening. “But I don’t know how he’ll react. Because his mom is sick, sick like I am, and he cut her off because of it.” Once the words have started, they keep coming. “But I tried to talk to him today. And he didn’t want to, and then he left. And I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know if he found out, somehow, but now he doesn’t want to talk to me.” The breath he lets out wavers slightly, trying and failing to collect himself. “It feels like he already cut himself off. And it’s killing me, because I don’t know what’s going on in my own head, let alone in his. I just want to talk to him. I want to tell him the truth, but I’m scared that I won’t even get the chance.” He tilts his head back, looking up toward the sky, breathing in the night air. “If there’s anyone, or anything, up there. If prayers or wishes or miracles actually exist, give me a chance with him.” 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. If he’s expecting something to come down from the sky, an alien or a spirit or something, to take him and tell him that everything will be alright in the end. He’s not sure if he’s expecting Lucas to have standing just beyond his field of vision the entire time, to have heard him talking to himself in the dark. But nothing happens, the sky stays dark, the breeze stays gentle, and Eliott stays where he’s sat, hugging his knees and trying to steady his shaking breaths.

 

\---

 

**AVANT VENDREDI 09:14**

His eyes blink open to the sun coming in through the window of his bedroom. Eliott barely even remembers coming home last night. He’s thankful for the fact that he remembered to plug his phone in, but now the realization hits him that he now has to get up and go to school. He rolls over and grabs his phone, stopping his alarm. The screen stays lit though.

 

**Lucille:** No, I haven’t told him, I don’t even have his number

**Lucille:** Why, do you want me to?

 

It takes him a moment to realize what it is that she’s talking about. He then breathes a sigh of relief, letting tension go that he wasn’t even aware he was carrying. It hits him, then, that his brain immediately went to Lucille sabotaging his life. He also realizes that— though he genuinely believes she didn’t tell Lucas— such a thing isn’t so farfetched. He realizes that her doing such a thing isn’t an impossibility, and he realizes that he doesn’t even want to give her the chance.

His thumb hovers over the button that reads  _ block this caller.  _ Taking a breath, he presses it, without writing a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the jeudi 01:48 scene with lucas and manon is one of my favourite scenes from season 3, and i really took the episode title (insomnia) to heart. voila, the jeudi 01:48 parallel, with both of them being emotional and thinking about each other.
> 
> the idea of eliott beating the wall down between them, days after lucas beat a wall bc of eliott? another parallel! i kinda went a bit bonkers with the parallels for this one— what did you guys think of them?
> 
> also, the eliott/lucille plot thickens!!
> 
> congrats on making it through hell week #1, _mecs_ , some smooth sailing for the next few chapters!!
> 
> and then... well, we'll cross that bridge when i write it.
> 
>  **quick question for the dedicated _mecs_ who have read this far:**
> 
> so some of you may remember that i edited the prologue of this fic, and notified all of you that it was done once i had done it. i'd like to edit all of the chapters i post, because— while i read over and edit each chapter— these are all first drafts.
> 
> i'm torn between slowly but steadily editing each chapter, and letting you all know about significant changes; versus re-posting the whole fic, once i've edited it. 
> 
> i really love getting input from all of you, and i'm really not sure what to do, moving on. i would most likely finish this one up, and then re-post it, chapter-by-chapter.
> 
> thank you for reading this far, and let me know what you think, if you like! <3


	14. {raton laveur}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A full night’s sleep has been coming to him less and less frequently as of late. Whether he wakes up because his brain is buzzing or simply because he has to pee, his body has taken to sleeping shortly and lightly._
> 
> _This time, it’s both._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, _mecs_! i come bearing another insta-post vignette! plotting for main chapter #7 has begun, though, so that should be coming fairly soon! this is a little something to say 'hey, i'm not dead, promise, just a little busy elsewhere!'
> 
> i've been a bit quiet on here because [i've been writing prompts on prompts on prompts over on my tumblr, which is its own, separate main blog now!! ](https://eliottamoureux.tumblr.com/)if you want some more quickly written stuff from me, check it out on there!!
> 
> hope you enjoy! <3

Eliott’s eyes blink open, and it’s still dark outside when he comes to. He can hear cars passing the building by, can see their shadows flick across his wall through through the window. Upon checking his phone, he realizes that he was only asleep about an hour. A full night’s sleep has been coming to him less and less frequently as of late. Whether he wakes up because his brain is buzzing or simply because he has to pee, his body has taken to sleeping shortly and lightly. 

This time, it’s both.

He takes care of the latter easily enough, but when he settles back into bed, the former hits him at full force. Every moment that he and Lucas have had together play through his mind. He thinks of the way Lucas looked at him when they were together a week ago, the teasing lilt to his voice when he asked “and if you had to draw me, how would you do it?” He reaches over to the little notebook sat on his bedside table, and he flips through the pages.  _ LUCAS  _ is written at the top of one of them, with quick notes scrawled underneath—  _ small, quiet, funny, adorable.  _ There are other things written down but he must have been too rushed then to write legibly, because he can’t quite tell what it says. The pages that follow feature an assortment of Lucas as different animals, crossed out with a singular line with notes like ‘ _ too big of an animal!’  _ or ‘ _ not nearly cute enough!’  _ he thinks of what else Lucas could possibly be, and then closes his notebook, setting it back down on the table. He unlocks his phone and scrolls through social media for a bit. He checks Lucas’ profile, but doesn’t follow him yet— no matter how much his heart flutters at the idea. He decides to post a photo of a raccoon, instead, looking into the camera, with a shiny little snout. 

He wonders what sort of animal would serve as an unlikely yet perfect companion for such a strange and adorable creature.


	15. 07— Assumer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Lucas:** Can’t. I’m in the foyer to repaint this fucking mural._
> 
> _The bus pulls away from the next stop a few moments later when it hits him._
> 
> _The foyer._
> 
>   _The one in the lycée that he’s currently passing by, right now._
> 
>   _ **Eliott:** I’m coming now I’ll be there in two minutes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus _pas peur_ rises once more, like a phoenix from the ashes.
> 
> thank you all for being so patient with me. your support means more than words can describe.
> 
> though i haven't been actively writing _this_ fic as of late, i've been really active on [my tumblr](https://eliottamoureux.tumblr.com/), writing little drabbles and prompt fills. i'm slowly but surely posting them on here, but there's a bunch that still remain not-yet-posted on AO3. [here's a link to my writing tag!!](https://eliottamoureux.tumblr.com/tagged/mywriting;)
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!! thank you again for being patient. it's good to be back. <3

**AVANT MARDI 13:55**

He wants to leave Lucas another note, he’s decided. 

He writes and draws this one out quickly, deciding that he needs to give it to Lucas sooner rather than later.

This one features a downtrodden raccoon-Eliott in the first frame, staring down at his dark-screened phone. He thinks of all of the times he’s checked over the past couple of days— far more than he would ever admit to anyone— for _any_ sign of Lucas. Each time he does, he comes up empty, and his heart breaks a little more.

 _Is this it,_ he wonders. _Is this the end for us?_

In the next frame, raccoon-Eliott receives a text from his hedgehog companion.

_Thanks for the drawing. When did you put it in my stuff?_

His ears perk up and his frown disappears. His response is written out in the same frame.

_You’re welcome. I did it when you were beside me in the caf. And this one when you were in gym class._

_PS: I miss you._

 

\---

 

When Eliott walks the halls, he’s mostly alone. He sat down in class and his body was buzzing, his brain screaming at him to _give Lucas the drawing, find him and give it to him_ and so he does. Launching his plan into action, he makes his way to the gym quickly. Looking through the main door, he sees Lucas sprint by, his focus completely on whatever activity they’re doing in class. Eliott goes to the side door, the one that leads to the change rooms. He scans along the cubbies until he finds Lucas’ bag. He pulls the first book that he can find— biology, he notices with a shudder— and slips the note in on a random page. He catches sight of Lucas again as he’s about to leave, and he’s suddenly frozen. 

When he comes back to his senses, he realizes that he’s been staring at Lucas for far too long. He shakes his head to snap himself out of it, and then leaves the gym, thankful he wasn’t noticed.

 

\---

 

**AVANT VENDREDI 18:14**

Though it may be the weekend, Eliott can’t seem to relax. 

He’s been wandering since he finished school for the day, unable to stop his legs moving. His brain gets like this often— restless and pent-up. The only things that help are walking and writing, and he can’t quite bring himself to do the latter, right now. 

He’s done all he can about Lucas— for now, at least. The last thing he wants is to intrude, but he’d really like some sort of response. He doesn’t want to be left wondering forevermore. Wondering if Lucas cares about him, if what they had was real—

If what they had is over now.

He lets out a sigh, far heavier than intended, and resigns to taking the bus home. He realizes he’s made his way back toward the _lycée,_ a little way up the road from the bus stop where he and Lucas had their first proper introduction. Just when his mind wanders back toward Lucas, his phone buzzes.

His jaw nearly drops when he sees who it is.

 

 **Lucas:** Thanks for your drawing, but I don’t understand what you’re playing at. And if you’re not interested, stop contacting me.

 

The bus pulls up and he steps on, sitting in a seat near the front. He stares down at his phone, reading and re-reading the text several times. _I don’t understand what you’re playing at._

_If you’re not interested, stop contacting me._

_If you’re not interested—_

How could Lucas think he wasn’t interested?

The bus pulls away from the curb as he sends his reply.

 

 **Eliott:** I thought they might help. I hate the rift that’s opened up between us, could we meet somewhere and talk things out? 

 

 _I miss you,_ he almost adds on. He pops his earbuds into his ears and holds his phone in his hand, waiting, _hoping_ for a response.

And a response he gets.

 

 **Lucas:** Can’t. I’m in the _foyer_ to repaint this fucking mural.

 

The bus pulls away from the next stop a few moments later when it hits him.

The _foyer._

The one in the _lycée_ that he’s currently passing by, _right now._

 

 **Eliott:** I’m coming now I’ll be there in two minutes

 

He types out a reply so quickly that he doesn’t have time to punctuate. Moments later, he’s off the bus, borderline-sprinting back toward the _lycée._ His legs carry him through the halls faster than ever before, and his heart leaps when the door to the _foyer_ comes into sight, left slightly ajar. His breath catches when he sees Lucas, stood alone in the room. Lucas is looking at the mural, his eyes scanning over it, his expression serious. Eliott closes the door behind him, and when he turns back around, Lucas is looking right at him. He feels like a deer in the headlights, so vulnerable— _scared,_ almost— that he needs to think in order to come up with something to say.

“Need a hand?” is what he decides on, trying his best to quell the way his heart is pounding against his chest. Lucas sighs, still looking at him. There’s a long pause, a few moments of absolute silence between them before Lucas speaks.

“Sure, if you want.”

 

\---

 

**VENDREDI 18:35**

He tries to pay attention to the mural— and how much of an eyesore it _really_ is— but he can’t shake the nerves that have come from Lucas standing right beside him. It feels like it’s been an eternity since Lucas has been by his side, like an ocean has opened up between them. He hopes— _beyond_ hopes— that there’s some way to bridge the gap.

And so he stands, and he waits for Lucas to speak. Shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to ignore the way his heart is hammering away inside his chest. Waits for him to have something to say.

And Lucas doesn’t. 

So he takes a breath, and then—

“So,” He didn’t plan for his voice to sound so jarring, cutting through the silence that had been blanketing them. “What were you planning on doing?” He keeps his eyes on the mural, doesn’t let himself look at Lucas.

Not yet, at least.

“I don’t really know anymore.” Lucas’ voice is even, nonchalant. He wonders if he actually feels that way, or if they’re in the same boat— if, maybe, Lucas is fighting just as hard to keep his bearings.

“What if we Jackson-Pollocked all of it?” He asks, and then all of a sudden Lucas is looking at him. All of a sudden, he’s looking right back at Lucas. He didn’t realize how much he missed looking at Lucas until this moment, and now he realizes why he was resisting so much until now— he can’t look away.

“Like how?” At Lucas’ question, he realizes that he hasn’t thought that far ahead.

“I’ll show you.” He says, grabbing a paint brush and rolling with it. If Jackson Pollock rolled with it, though, so can he. He grabs a brush and dips in a bucket of brilliant royal blue. He flicks it at the wall, and watches it splatter all over the orange I and the yellow X. “This, everywhere, with every colour.” 

“Art really is a scam, huh?” Lucas says, and Eliott almost wants to laugh at how convicted he sounds when he says it, at how serious his expression seems.

“Try it.” And try Lucas does. He dips into some orange, flicks the colour upwards. It’s not— for all intents and purposes— a bad touch. But one of the things Eliott has missed most is teasing Lucas, and so he says— “You missed.”

“Ah no, I didn’t.” Lucas’ response is obvious, his tone flat and insistent.

“Yes, you did, it’s obvious.” Eliott points to the orange splatter. He almost gives up the facade, almost says that he loves the way the orange crosses over the blue, loves the fact that Lucas went up after he went across, loves loves _loves—_

“You can’t just _miss_ something like this. You’d have to really suck.” Lucas hands move around as he talks, he’s animated now. He can’t tell if Lucas is genuinely ticked off by their conversation— the little, cocky part of himself says that it’s nerves, that he’s nervous about this, too— he can’t really tell what’s going on in Lucas’ head at all. And that makes him nervous.

“I wasn’t gonna say it, but…” Lucas looks at him, then. Eliott can’t help but laugh, at Lucas’ expression, at the sheer _absurdity_ of the situation. Lucas laughs too, mixed with a scoff— but then he’s smiling and Eliott’s heart swells. “It’s nice to see you smile.” Eliott says, because it _is,_ because Lucas’ smile is one of the great wonders of the world. Because Lucas deserves to smile for the rest of his life. “I missed it.” He’s expecting a soft moment to follow, but Lucas hardens, looks down and away from him. The silence stretches out between them, thick and stifling.

“You looked happy with Lucille, last time.” It takes him a moment to catch on to what Lucas means, and his eyes widen a fraction. _He was there?_ “It’s nice that you’re talking again.” He can _hear_ the bitterness, the upset in Lucas’ voice. He barely remembers the party, both because of his drunkenness and because of how upset he was afterward. He wants to explain, he wants to ask to explain himself. _I was in a bad state,_ he wants to say. _I wasn’t thinking right because of something you said and I don’t blame you but I think I might be crazy and if you don’t want me anymore I understand and—_

“You can’t say that.” Is what he decides on, in the end. _You don’t know how much I cried over you, that night._ He turns to him, to _really_ look at Lucas. A breath later, Lucas is looking back over at him.

“Why not?” Lucas says, turning to him, his voice quiet. Lucas’ expression is a brick wall, but he knows he’s upset, and he hates himself for it.

_Because I was stupid._

_Because you’re the only thing that makes me feel like a human being._

_Because I love you._

“Because none of it matters.” Lucille doesn’t matter, all of the bullshit that his brain provides him with on a daily basis doesn’t matter, _none_ of it does. When he’s with Lucas, everything around him falls away, falls out of focus. And Lucas stays in the center, juxtaposing everything with his light, with his colour, with his clarity.

“It doesn’t matter?” Lucas is so beautiful, even when he’s challenging him. Even when he’s hurt and trying to hide it, he’s so cripplingly, achingly beautiful.

“No.” Eliott says as if it’s the most obvious, objective fact in the world. “Ever since I met you, you’re the only thing that’s mattered.” Lucas’ eyes widen, just a little. It wouldn’t be noticeable if he could take his eyes off of Lucas, right now— but such a thing seems impossible in this moment. He thinks he could look at Lucas forever, that he could live off of it. He dips into some yellow to try and calm his heart— squeezes some purple out of a tube when that doesn’t work. He flicks green once, twice against the wall, then turns to Lucas, wondering why he isn’t joining in and _oh._

Lucas isn’t joining in because he’s still looking at him. 

 _Stop it,_ he wants to say. More than that, though he wants to say _keep looking at me, look at me and never look away._ But instead he says nothing. He lets Lucas look, he lets him make the next move. Lucas’ next move is to dip into the bucket of orange paint once again, and Eliott follows suit, smearing yellow across the wall. They’re starting to conceal the old mural, they’re starting to get somewhere, Eliott thinks. 

More yellow, then some blue.

Then, _then—_

Eliott takes some green on his brush and touches it to Lucas’ nose the next time their eyes meet. He laughs at Lucas’ shock.

“Are you _serious_ ?” Lucas asks, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling at then he’s flicking orange over at Eliott, and _oh, so this is how it is._

He gathers paint in between two brushes and throws it at Lucas. A moment later, both of their brushes are gone, and then they’re only using their hands. The mural sits forgotten as they reach for paint in buckets and bottles, as they reach for each other— green on Eliott’s shoulder, blue on Lucas’ cheek. Eliott laughs and Lucas does, too, because he’s high on this moment, because it feels like everything is pulling itself back together, somehow.

Lucas is smiling and they’re so close, now, but he doesn’t care. He wants to be close, _needs_ to be close. He needs to be closer and closer and _closer._ All of a sudden Lucas isn’t smiling anymore, his face serious for a moment. Then they’re getting closer and all Eliott can think is please, _please—_

He’s not sure whether it’s him or Lucas that makes the first move.

But then they’re kissing, and the universe aligns in the blink of an eye. They kiss and everything makes sense again. Eliott throws his arms around Lucas’ shoulder as Lucas clutches at his neck. They come together, then pull apart, then come together— again and again, over and over. One of the times that Lucas pulls away, he’s pulling his shirt off. Eliott can do nothing but help him with it. In the next moment, Lucas is pulling Eliott’s shirt off; in the next he’s running his hands up Eliott’s back. He clutches at him, pulls him close. Lucas is hungry and _greedy_ and Eliott can’t get enough of it, wants nothing more than to provide him for everything he asks for. 

They hold each other, they breathe together, they kiss and touch everywhere they can reach. Eliott’s been pining, _aching_ for this for what feels like far too long— but he didn’t realize quite how intensely until now, until they’re finally back together again. The colours mix everywhere they touch: blue and yellow to green, red and yellow to orange, until everything mixes into a mess, into a masterpiece.

Lucas pushes and pulls and presses him against the wall. Their paint-slick hands roam over each other’s backs easily, and Eliott has to fist into Lucas’ hair to bring him closer, as close as possible. Then they flip without Eliott really realizing— then he’s the one pushing Lucas against the wall, groaning as his back arches, at the hot press of their hips. Lucas pulls away again and he’s so far gone that he almost doesn’t let him, almost pulls him right back in, but then Lucas is taking his jeans off and oh, _oh._ He follows suit almost immediately, and they’re completely naked the next time they rut against each other. His biggest fear is doing something that Lucas doesn’t want, but the fact that Lucas has taken the lead eliminates that worry completely— and it’s also the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed. Lucas moans into his mouth and Eliott swallows it down, lets out a moan of his own when Lucas runs gentle fingers along his ass. The heat of Lucas’ skin makes his fingertips prickle with warmth. He thinks that he’d like to explore Lucas’ body like this forever, keep finding new dips and curves for the rest of time. Lucas grabs at him and kisses him and looks at him like he’s special, like he’s _wanted—_ and it hits Eliott so hard that he has to pull back for a moment to breathe. He still holds Lucas’ face, and when he finally musters the courage to open his eyes, Lucas is looking at him, looking _into_ him. He’s never been the object of such a gaze before.

Then he’s pulling Lucas to him and kissing down his neck and everything shifts, everything goes burning hot as they start to rut together— _really_ start to rut together. Then he’s gripping Lucas’ cock, bringing it against his own, stroking them together. They pull back in unison as they gasp, and Eliott’s coming embarrassingly quick, onto his hand, onto Lucas but he doesn’t care, all he cares about is that way Lucas is panting against them as they press their mouths together. He knows Lucas is close, the pitch of his voice is getting higher and breathier as he strokes him. Then he keens— full-on, actually _keens—_ and Eliott strokes him through his climax.

Eliott presses their foreheads together as they catch their breaths. Lucas cradles Eliott’s face, and Eliott cradles Lucas’. Even with paint covering most of his face, Lucas is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Eliott’s never been in a moment so perfect, with a person so perfect. The urge hits him once again to kiss Lucas— to kiss him until he has to come up for air, to kiss him until Lucas knows how loved he is.

Because he _is_ loved. Eliott loves him so much that he can’t bear to tell him— not yet, at least. Not with words, at least. But perhaps with kisses, and with touches, and with everything else he has— perhaps it’s worth a try.

So he brings his hands up to Lucas’ neck again, pulls him in.


	16. (enlacés)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every touch is an answered prayer, every movement is a fulfilled dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loves! life has been very up in the air for me as of late, so thank you for your patience with my posting. i hope you enjoy this chapter, i really enjoyed writing it.
> 
> this is wholly and completely fluffy, to make up for the next chapter— which will be episode eight from eliott's perspective. all aboard the angst train, choo choo
> 
> thoughts? feelings? outrage? don't want to express it on here? [come and talk to me on tumblr!!](https://eliottamoureux.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i'm hoping that the next chapter will come to fruition faster than this one— hoping!!
> 
> let me know what you think!! <3

Seconds melt into minutes— maybe even minutes into hours. He can’t be sure, though, because the only thing that matters in this moment is  _ Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.  _ The press of his lips, his roaming hands, everything about him, all at once.

He wants, and so he takes; he is wanted, and so he gives.

The setting sun casts highlights and shadows on Lucas’ body, on the curve of his shoulders, his chest, his jaw. Eliott kisses everywhere the sun reaches— or perhaps the sun warms everywhere Eliott presses a kiss. They kiss and kiss without any real intent, a dance that they make up together with every touch.

There are no boundaries here, in this little bubble they’ve created, a Lucas and Eliott sized universe of their very own. He wants to graze his teeth along the column of Lucas’ neck, and so he does; he wants to leave a mark, and so he sucks gently just below Lucas’ jaw until the skin is pink when he pulls away from it. Every touch is an answered prayer, every movement is a fulfilled dream.

“Beautiful,” He breathes, without even realizing that he’s said it. “Lucas, you’re so beautiful.” The way Lucas shrinks away just a bit is adorable, and he chases the movement. He’ll tell Lucas exactly how beautiful he is until he gets used to it, until he sees it for the truth that it is. Before he knows it though, Lucas is flipping them around, pressing him into the wall, his calloused hands roaming around Eliott’s shoulders. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t go willingly, and his quiet gasp illustrates that fact.

Their movements grow stiff as the paint dries, the colours lightening _just_ so, illuminated by the quickly setting sun. When Eliott pulls away not _for_ _good_ but just _for now,_ Lucas’ face is something right out of his wildest dreams. His cheeks are almost as red as his lips, both flushed from being kissed a thousand times, or maybe more. His eyes stay closed for a few beats, a few breaths, and then they flutter open and Lucas is looking _into_ him, into his soul. 

He wants to be looked at like that forever, he thinks.

But—  _ but—  _ they’re bound to be caught eventually.

“We should leave.” He says, and Lucas’ face falls.  _ I take it back,  _ he almost says,  _ I’ve decided I want to stay here forever with you. _

“Oh. Okay, I can—” It hits Eliott, then. It hits him that Lucas thinks that he’s insinuating that they leave separately, which is the exact  _ opposite  _ of what he was hoping for them tonight.

“No, Lucas—” They kiss, soft and sweet, and Lucas visibly relaxes. “ _ We  _ should leave. Us, together.” That earns him another deep blush.

“ _ Oh. _ ” Lucas laughs, then, and Eliott does too. He runs careful fingers along Lucas’ cheek, just because he can, marvels at the way Lucas leans into it. “Your place or mine?”

“Would yours be alright? My parents are supposed to be visiting this weekend.”

“Sure, yeah. I’m sure my roommates won’t mind.” If Eliott’s being honest, he  _ may  _ have forgotten about Lucas’ roommates. But he trusts that they won’t mind his presence too much— especially if the last time he was there is any indicator. “Should we shower first though?”

“Maybe once we get to your place? The showers here are gross,” A full-body shudder runs through him at the thought of using the gym showers— especially only an hour or two after the football team has finished practice for the day, “our clothes are already full of paint anyway.”

“And  _ whose  _ fault is that?” Suddenly, Lucas’ teasing side is back in full force, and Eliott  _ loves  _ it. He loves it when Lucas is playful, loves it when he’s sweet, loves  _ it,  _ loves  _ him— _

“Hush.” He says, silencing him with a kiss.

 

\---

 

They make it to Lucas’ apartment without any problems— although the look that the bus driver gave them when they got on the bus isn’t something that either of them will forget any time soon.

Lucas enters first, unlocking the door quietly. Eliott can hear him sigh in relief when they come into an empty living room. The light from the streetlamps makes the room glow faintly, and Eliott would bottle this moment if he could— the feeling of being high from another’s presence, the careful curiosity of what’s to come, the love that is filling his heart to the brim. He takes Lucas by the shoulders, gently spinning him around and pressing their lips firmly together. He pulls Lucas close as he leans down to kiss along his neck.

“Hey,  _ hey _ —” Lucas chides, pushing him away gently, “shower first, remember?” Eliott rolls his eyes and Lucas laughs at him.

“Lead the way.” And lead him Lucas does, taking him by the hand and pulling him down the hall. “Could you grab some towels from the closet? I’ll get the water going.” Lucas gestures to a small door halfway down the hall, and Eliott nods. A moment later he comes into the bathroom, a few towels in his arms. Lucas is fiddling with the faucets, and then he pulls away, turning to Eliott. There’s a beat of silence before Eliott takes his shirt off, and Lucas follows suit. Once they’re both naked, Eliott takes some time to properly  _ look  _ at Lucas, to take him in. The trails of paint are mementos of his touches: a handprint on his shoulder, the lines of trailing fingers across his chest. He wants to paint Lucas like this— or photograph him, maybe— put him in the Louvre like the masterpiece that he is.

“What?” Lucas asks, nervous. Eliott only shakes his head, and then presses a kiss just over his heart.

They get in the shower with washcloths in hand, and Eliott gets to work on Lucas quickly. He vows to do things like this more often— the gentle intimacy of it makes his heart sing. He makes a routine of it, too— press in with the cloth gently, massage Lucas’ muscles until the paint is gone, press a kiss onto the now clean skin.

Repeat.

Once Eliott’s satisfied and Lucas is clean— save for a few spots, anyway— he grabs the shampoo and massages it into Lucas’ hair. Lucas hums, content, and leans back into Eliott’s touch a bit.

“Feel good?” He asks, and Lucas leans back further, until his head is resting against Eliott’s shoulder.

“Mm,” Lucas hums again, so soft. Eliott thinks the sound will loop through his dreams tonight. “I think I could stay like this forever.”

“Wouldn’t you rack up an insane water bill?”

“Not in my dreams.” Lucas’ answer is light, but sure. “There’s just you, and me, and no bills.” He thinks of it, being able to stay with Lucas forever, being able to live their lives together with no responsibilities and no interruptions.

And no bills.

“I like the sound of that.” He says as he grabs the showerhead, rinsing the shampoo out of Lucas’ hair. Lucas turns around, then, kissing him quick, and then he takes the showerhead from him.

“Now let me do you.”

 

\---

 

They tumble onto the couch shortly after, still warm from the shower. Lucas’ skin is so, so soft. He can’t help but run his hand along Lucas’ cheek, feather-light. When Lucas leans into it and presses a kiss to the palm of his hand, Eliott’s almost certain that he’s about to explode. Lucas’ eyes blink open, looking over at him slowly, and something deep within him says  _ this is it, he is it, he’s what never knew you’ve been waiting for.  _ He hides his face in the crook of Lucas’ neck, letting his hand drift down to Lucas’ shoulder. He presses a kiss to the skin there, because he can’t resist himself. Then— because he still can’t resist— he presses another, and then another. The way Lucas reciprocates is glorious, all touches and kisses and sighs. The remnants of his hesitance are nothing but endearing. Eliott wants to pull him in even closer— if such a thing is possible— and whisper to him, right into his ear, that  _ everything you do is perfect, I was made to be touched by you. _

The way Lucas reciprocates is also, in Eliott’s humble opinion, searing hot.

“Woah,” Eliott gasps as Lucas scapes his teeth against the column of his neck, barely-there. His hand sinks down lower, and  _ lower,  _ and— “ _ Hello. _ ” That pulls a laugh from Lucas, and then he starts to laugh, too. “Lucas, won’t your roommates hear?” He’s pulled away at this point, and they look at each other, contemplating.

“I don’t care,” Lucas says, then, simply. “Plus, I’ve definitely  _ heard  _ Mika before. It’s time I get some revenge.” Lucas latches back onto his neck again, his arms thrown around Eliott’s shoulders, and how is a mere mortal like him supposed to refuse such a thing?

“What about Manon and Lisa?” He asks, but his voice is giving him away, now— he can’t quite get it to sound normal, like he’s genuinely concerned for Lucas’ non-offending roommates.

Which he  _ would  _ be, under different circumstances, perhaps.

“Hm,” Lucas hums, and he feels it more than he hears it, rumbling gently against his neck. “collateral damage.” He full-on scoffs at Lucas, but more than anything it’s to hide the deep blush that he can feel spreading across his face at the thought of him being more important than Lucas’ roommates “If you don’t want to, though, that’s okay. We can just sleep.” Lucas’ voice is still just as intense as it was before, but there’s a softness, now.

However—

“I never said I didn’t want to.” He says, before crushing their lips back together. He pulls Lucas in, pulls him  _ down.  _

Falls with him.

 

\---

 

They came together as the sun set, and Eliott’s still panting in the newly fallen darkness from it. He can only see in silhouettes, the streetlamps outside painting the room in the softest of glows. But he sure that he could make Lucas’ outline out with his eyes closed, if he had to. 

The breeze ruffles Lucas’ hair gently, and Eliott catches a stray tuft, twirling it around his fingers gently. He can’t see Lucas looking over at him but he can  _ feel  _ it, a faint sort of prickle tracing along his jawline, blossoming deep within his chest. Then Lucas is touching his shoulder, cool knuckles brushing against heated skin. His hand drifts upward, lead by nothing more than a single finger, up his neck, resting just under his ear. Lucas’ hand shifts so that it’s cradling Eliott’s face, and he can’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to Lucas’ palm. Lucas shuffles, getting closer and closer until their heated chests are pressing together, until his arms wrap around Lucas without even having to think about it, until Lucas’ arms wrap around him in return. Their breathing slows to the point where they match, to the point where he’s no longer certain where he ends and where Lucas begins.

And so Eliott falls asleep with Lucas in his arms for the second time, dreaming of the future, when they’ll have fallen asleep together so many times that he’ll have lost count.   
  



End file.
